


SuperPotterLock- The Chamber of Secrets

by Nurmengardx



Series: SuperPotterLock [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Gen, Multiple Crossovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-20
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2018-01-05 07:52:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 64,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1091444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nurmengardx/pseuds/Nurmengardx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry, Ron and Hermione are back for another year at Hogwarts, along with Sherlock Holmes, John Watson and Castiel Edlund. The heir of Slytherin is at large and Gilderoy Lockhart catches Sherlock's attention. He investigates, but loses focus on the mystery of the Chamber of Secrets. Will he catch up in time?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. At Flourish and Blotts

At Flourish and Blotts

  Harry was sitting comfortably at the Weasleys’ table one morning, a week after he arrived by flying car, when three owls arrived. Mr Weasley was handing out identical envelopes of yellowish parchment.

‘Letters from school,’ he said. ‘Dumbledore already knows you’re here, Harry- never misses a trick, that man.’

Harry unfolded his letter, which told him to catch the Hogwarts Express on September the first, and there was a list of new books that second years would require.

  These were:

_The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2_ by Miranda Goshawk

_Break with a Banshee_ by Gilderoy Lockhart

_Gadding with Ghouls_ by Gilderoy Lockhart

_Holidays with Hags_ by Gilderoy Lockhart

_Travels with Trolls_ by Gilderoy Lockhart

_Voyages with Vampires_ by Gilderoy Lockhart

_Year with the Yeti_ by Gilderoy Lockhart

  Ron caught Harry’s eye and raised his eyebrows.

‘This lot won’t come cheap,’ George frowned. ‘Lockhart’s books are really expensive…’

‘We’ll manage,’ said Mrs Weasley. ‘I expect we’ll be able to pick up a lot of Ginny’s things second-hand.’

‘Oh, are you starting at Hogwarts this year?’ Harry asked Ginny. She nodded, blushing tomato red and put her elbow in the butter dish. Just then Percy walked in, already dressed with his Hogwarts prefect badge pinned to his knitted vest top.

‘Hang on, don’t sit!’

Ron dived at the chair and pulled a moulting, grey owl from under Percy’s bottom.

‘You almost sat on Errol!’

Percy rolled his eyes and started on his breakfast.

‘ _Finally-_ he’s got Hermione’s answer. I wrote to her _ages_ ago.’

He dumped Errol on the draining board, where he dropped off to sleep.

‘Pathetic,’ Ron muttered before ripping open Hermione’s letter and reading it aloud.

_Dear Ron, and Harry if you’re there,_

_I hope everything went all right and that Harry is ok and that you didn’t do anything illegal to get him out, Ron, because that would get Harry into trouble, too. I’ve been really worried and if Harry’s all right, will you please let me know at once, but perhaps it would be better if you used a different owl because I think another delivery might finish your one off. I think Castiel’s new one is on her way to you. If she hasn’t arrived already, maybe you can ask to borrow her. It might take a while, though, he lives in North Wales somewhere._

_I’m very busy with school work, of course –‘_ How can she be?’ said Ron in horror. ‘We’re on holiday!’ _\- and we’re meeting Castiel in London next Wednesday. Why don’t we meet in Diagon Alley?_

_Let me know what’s happening as soon as you can, love from Hermione._

Just then a handsome tawny flew in, followed by a black barn owl, one landing in front of Mrs Weasley and the other in front of Ron. Ron groaned as he saw the tawny.

‘Isn’t that Mycroft’s owl?’ Percy asked. Mrs Weasley opened it and read it to them.

_Dear Weasley family,_

_We are hosting a small dinner party this afternoon at four o’ clock and we would be delighted if you could make it. Unfortunately we are a few guests short, so please feel free to invite whomever you would like. I would very much like for our children to get to know one another a little better._

_Cordially yours, Mrs A. Holmes_

‘But it’s not even Saturday,’ Ron moaned.

‘Behave, Ron, I think it’s a brilliant idea- and we can bring Harry,’ Mrs Weasley beamed.

‘So, where does Sherlock live?’ Harry asked curiously.

‘They live in this huge house on the other side of the village- you can actually see it from my window,’ Ron said miserably.

‘Are you going to open your, or what?’ Fred said to Ron.

‘Oh, right.’

He opened it to reveal a neat, flowing script.

‘It’s from Castiel,’ he said, passing the letter to Harry.

_Dear Ron,_

_Hermione told me of your plans to rescue Harry from his family, though I realise by the time this reaches you he is likely to already be there- in which case I would like to introduce you both to my new owl. Her name is Grace; Gabriel bought her for me when he was made Prefect. The woman in the store said she’s a rare kind of barn owl. I am meeting Hermione in London next Wednesday; perhaps you would like to join us. I hope you have all had a good summer._

_Before you send Grace back, could you please let her rest? It’s a long way to our house._

_See you soon, Castiel._

Mrs Weasley rose from the table and glanced at the clock, which read eleven o’ clock.

‘Arthur, dear, are you coming?’

Mr Weasley looked up at her, blinking.

‘What? Where?’

‘To the Holmes’s, later.’

‘Oh, erm, I shouldn’t think so, no, lots of paperwork…’ he trailed off at the expression on Mrs Weasley’s face and stared at his breakfast.

‘Right, I want you all to get washed up and find your best clothes so I can clean them- yes that includes you, Fred.’

Fred grumbled something about wanting to play Quidditch, but he stomped upstairs with George, if only to avoid the wrath of Mrs Weasley. Harry and Ron turned to go.

‘Oh, Harry, dear, have you got any smart clothes with you?’ Mrs Weasley asked.

‘Er…’ Somehow he seriously doubted it.

‘That’s all right, I’m sure we can find you something,’ Mrs Weasley smiled.

Harry smiled back and he and Ron climbed up to the very top of the house where Ron’s room was. Harry squinted of the window at the village.

‘So, which one’s Sherlock’s?’ he asked. Ron snorted.

‘The big one. It’s a bit misty today so you might not be able to see it.’

Harry scanned all of the houses but couldn’t see one likely to be Sherlock’s.

‘Don’t worry, you’ll see it later,’ said Ron.

A few hours later, they were all lined up by the front door in freshly ironed clothes. Mrs Weasley had dug Harry up a nice pair of black trousers and a shirt that was slightly too big for him. The twins and Ron had their best jeans on- the ones with the least amount of rips in- but Percy had dressed up in his very best set of robes.

‘He’s trying to impress Mycroft,’ Ron muttered. ‘He got a job at the Ministry and now Percy won’t stop sucking up to him.

‘Right, I think that’s everyone- let’s go.’

Mrs Weasley led them down the dusty path until they came to the first quiet houses of the sleepy village. Despite the fact that there were quite a few of them, they made barely any noise as they walked along the pavement. On the other side of the village, Mrs Weasley turned them off onto a long driveway, shaded by tall, green trees. The drive wound round and curved back and forth.

‘They had to build this driveway after the entire village had to have their memories modified,’ George explained to Harry. ‘He blew up the entire left wing of their house and it rained frogs that belched marshmallows for a week. Still not sure how he managed it.’

Finally, the driveway opened out and Harry’s jaw dropped open. The biggest house he had ever seen reared up before him with a huge, neat lawn spread out beneath the ornate windows. It was all made of smooth, whit granite four stories high, with a few decorative eagle statues perched on the corners of the roof. Most of the windows were curtained closed, but the ones on the ground floor were thrown open. The front doors were made of two large slabs of solid oak, carved into the shaped of the Ravenclaw coat of arms. Suddenly, the doors opened and a very tall, very slim woman in flowing blue robes walked out. Her high cheekbones were thrown into sharp relief by the carefully controlled curls that framed her face.

‘Good afternoon,’ she said politely. ‘Do come in.’

She led them through the double doors into a brightly lit hall with stairs leading to the upper floors.

‘There are some things I must attend to, please feel free to make your way through to the living room. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr Potter, my name is Amanda Holmes, I’m the boys’ mother.’

She smiled stiffly and exited through a door to the left. Mrs Weasley pointed them through the one between the two sets of staircases. As they walked under the mahogany banister, Harry finally saw some evidence that Sherlock lived here. Scorch marks littered the otherwise perfectly polished banister and there were discoloured patches all over the shiny, wooden flooring.

The living room was large and luxurious, with thick green and blue carpets, matching curtains, and a huge, ornately carved fireplace- the mantelpiece the same mahogany wood as the banister outside. Ron and the twins immediately threw themselves down on the plush, powder blue sofas and Mrs Weasley sat herself in an armchair facing the fireplace. Harry and Percy hovered awkwardly by the door. A few minutes of silence passed before they heard the sound of Mycroft’s voice drifting under the door. He seemed to be shouting at someone- most likely Sherlock. His voice got louder and louder until the door flew open and Sherlock walked calmly in, wrapped in nothing but a crisp, white bed sheet. He parked himself next to Ron on the sofa and waited.

Mycroft burst in thunderously, glaring and Sherlock.

‘What on Earth is the matter with you?’ he demanded.

‘Nothing’s the matter with me,’ Sherlock replied airily.

‘I’ve already told you, I’m picking up John in a minute, now what is the problem?’

‘There is no problem.’

Mycroft groaned in irritation and rubbed his eyes.

‘This is a very important afternoon and I’ll not have you ruining it. Sherlock Holmes, _put your trousers on!’_

‘What for?’ Sherlock said sulkily. Mycroft made a noise somewhere between despair and exasperation and turned to leave.

‘I’m going to get John, don’t blame me if you embarrass yourself in front of him.’

He stalked huffily out of the room, slamming the door behind him. As soon as he was gone, Fred and George burst into laughter. Sherlock grinned and started laughing himself.

‘So, come on, spill it. Why’s this afternoon so important?’ Fred asked Sherlock, who sighed.

‘The Minister is coming for dinner and Mycroft wants to be promoted to his office,’ he told them.

‘Well then, you should get dressed,’ Percy said sniffily. Sherlock turned his head towards Percy, eyes shielded by his messy hair.

‘Or, I could not. You can sit down, Harry.’

Harry gratefully sat down on Ron’s other side.

‘Hang on a minute; I thought he only just started working at the Ministry. He can’t be wanting a promotion already,’ Ron said incredulously.

‘Oh, believe me, he can,’ Sherlock confirmed.

‘You know, we could help Mycroft and give the Minister an ‘extra special surprise’,’ Fred grinned.

‘You will do no such thing,’ Mrs Weasley said sternly.

‘Oh, come on, Mum, Fudge is just an old, stuffed up git. He’ll never even know it was us,’ George moaned.

‘Don’t even think about it. He’s your father’s boos too, remember?’

The twins both flopped back in their seats, folding their arms.

‘Don’t look at me like that,’ Mrs Weasley warned them. ‘You two had better behave yourselves, or I’ll take away your brooms until you go back to school.’

They rolled their eyes but uncrossed their arms, deciding not to cause trouble.

The door swung open again and Mycroft walked back in with a pale and dizzy looking John in tow.

‘John, what’s the matter?’ Sherlock asked immediately. ‘What did you do, Mycroft?’

Ron moved to sit by the twins so that John could sit next to Sherlock.

‘Side-Along Apparition. It was his first time- he’ll be all right in a minute,’ Mycroft said curtly. Sherlock glared at him angrily. John cleared his throat, looked around the room and finally looked at Sherlock in confusion. He frowned at the sheet and Sherlock could practically hear the cogs turning in his head.

‘Are you- wearing any pants?’

‘No.’

John caught Sherlock’s eye- what he could see of it- and they both burst into fits of giggles.

‘When you’ve both stopped behaving like children-‘

‘But that’s precisely what we are, Mycroft,’ Sherlock smirked. ‘I’m going back to my room, I’m bored.’

Sherlock rose from his seat and made for the exit, but Mycroft was too quick for him and stamped his foot firmly down on the end of the sheet, causing it to fall to his waist before he caught it.

‘This is a matter of extreme importance for both myself and Mummy- grow up!’

‘Get off my sheet!’

‘Or what?’

‘Or I’ll just walk away.’

‘Well I’ll let you.’

‘Boys, please,’ Mrs Weasley finally interrupted.

‘The Minister and everyone in his office will be here this afternoon, now for goodness’ sake- _put your clothes on!’_

Sherlock scowled sulkily at Mycroft and stormed from the room. They could hear him stomping up the stairs.

When Sherlock returned he was wearing, smart, black robes and was accompanied by his mother.

‘Please join us in the dining room,’ she said, turning her heel and directing them back through the first hall and into a door just beyond the staircases.

The dining room was subdued, most of the long, ornate table was empty and the few guests there were, were clustered in the middle. To Harry’s surprise and the Weasleys’ disgust, Draco Malfoy was sat on the far side, beside a man with white-blond hair that could only be his father. Sherlock stomped to the other side of the table- as far from the Malfoys as possible- closely followed by John and the Weasleys. There was an elderly woman in deep purple robes beside Sherlock.

‘Hello, Sherlock, it’s lovely to see you, dear,’ she smiled. Sherlock returned with his own, rare smile and put an arm around her.

‘And you, Mrs Hudson,’ he replied. Mrs Holmes made no move to introduce anyone, instead sitting down beside Mycroft.

‘We’re ready, Melly,’ she called into the air. Harry looked around in confusion until a wide-eyed, little house-elf bounced into the room, carrying a silver tray of empty glasses in one hand and a stack of china plates with silver cutlery balanced on top in the other. She was wearing a smart, neatly pressed, powder blue dress. She squeaked when she saw Harry, setting down a plate, a glass and a set of cutlery in front of him. Sherlock chuckled at the expression on John’s face. His jaw was hanging wide open as he watched Melly walking around the table.

‘She’s a house-elf,’ Sherlock muttered to him.

‘A house-elf?’ he repeated.

‘Yes. Most old wizarding families have one. They work for us.’

‘Wow.’

Melly came up beside John and smiled at him, waggling her ears slightly.

‘What would sir like to drink?’ she asked in a squeaky voice. ‘Melly can get sir pumpkin juice, butterbeer, or water. Or Melly can get sir a hot drink. Melly can make sir tea, coffee or hot chocolate.’

‘Er…’ John stammered.

‘He’ll have pumpkin juice,’ Sherlock smirked. ‘And I’ll just have water, thank you, Melly.’

She curtsied slightly and went back round the table, asking everyone what they wanted to drink, before leaving the room.  Low chatter began to spread out across the table, mostly amongst the Minister, Percy, Mycroft and the Malfoys. John didn’t say much, following Sherlock’s lead until Mycroft dragged them into the conversation.

‘It is such a shame that the Edlunds couldn’t make it,’ he said loudly.

‘Yes, well, since Lucy disappeared, I would assume they have better things to do than attend tedious dinner parties. What exactly is it you’re doing about Lucy, Minister?’ Sherlock asked coldly.

‘Lucy disappeared,’ John said.

‘Yes, she did. After her somewhat dramatic exit, she never went home. It seems the Ministry hasn’t sent anyone after her at all.’

‘Ahem- yes, well there’s, ah, not a lot we can do. American nationals and all…’ the Minister blustered awkwardly.

‘But the American Ministry won’t do anything because she lives in Britain.’

‘That’s enough, Sherlock,’ Mycroft said sternly.

Melly served them their first course of salmon and cream cheese, which everyone picked at without really noticing what they were eating, before their main course was brought out. A steaming, crispy duck on a silver platter was placed on the table and Mrs Holmes handed the Minister a carving knife.

‘Would you like to do the honours, Minister?’

‘It would be my pleasure,’ he smiled. Sherlock rolled his eyes, Ron following suit.

‘So, Lucius, is young Draco hoping to join our Ministry when his education is complete?’ the Minister asked Mr Malfoy.

‘That is the plan,’ he replied, plastering a sickly smile across his pointed features.

‘And what about Sherlock?’

‘I wouldn’t join the Ministry if it was the last job on Earth,’ Sherlock scoffed before Mycroft could say anything. Duck was placed on everyone’s plates, but no one touched it, as they were all now staring at the Minister, waiting for his reply.

‘And why is that?’ he asked Sherlock calmly.

‘The Ministry is full of idiots and power hungry morons and none of them could be any less ineffectual in a crisis if they tried. It would be a waste of my intellect,’ Sherlock said boldly.

‘The Ministry would be too good for a Muggle-loving pinhead like you,’ Draco Malfoy sneered from half way down the table.

‘Draco-‘

‘Perhaps you could tell me how I love Muggles, seeing as I’ve never met one.’

‘What are you talking about, there’s one sat right next to you.’

Sounds of outrage burst from the Weasleys’ end of the table, Mycroft put his head in his hands and Mr Malfoy hissed in Draco’s ear. The babble died down and Sherlock glared at Draco.

‘I’m warning you, Malfoy, if you ever so much as _think_ about flapping those worms you call lips like that ever again, it’ll be the last time you have lips.’

‘Sherlock, that’s enough-‘

‘Come, Draco, I think it’s about time we left,’ Mr Malfoy said coldly, rising from his chair.

‘Yes, we should be going too, lots of work to do. Thank you for the wonderful dinner, Mrs Holmes.’

The Minister and all of the people that had accompanied him got up and followed the Malfoys out. Mrs Holmes gracefully excused herself while Melly cleared away the plates in front of the empty seats. Ron tucked into his food, finally able to enjoy himself. Mycroft groaned.

‘Oh, don’t sulk, Mycroft, you’ll get the promotion,’ Sherlock sniffed.

***

On the morning they were meant to be going to Diagon Alley, Mrs Weasley roused them early, fed and watered them and marched them in front of the fireplace. Mrs Weasley grabbed a flowerpot off of the mantelpiece and peered inside.

‘We’re running low, Arthur,’ she told Mr Weasley. ‘We’ll have to get some more while we’re out. Ah well, guests first, Harry!’

She passed him the flowerpot, which he stared at, mystified.

‘What do I do?’ he asked shyly.

‘Harry’s never travelled by Floo powder, before,’ Ron piped up suddenly. ‘Sorry, Harry, I forgot.’

‘Never?’ Mrs Weasley asked. ‘How did you get to Diagon Alley before?’

‘I went on the Underground-‘

‘ _Really?’_ Mr Weasley interrupted. ‘Were there _escapators?’_

‘Um-‘

‘Oh, not _now,_ Arthur. Well Floo powder’s quicker but if you’ve never done it before…’

‘He’ll be fine, Mum. Look, watch us, Harry,’ said Fred. He took a pinch of the glittering powder, stepped up to the fireplace and threw it into the flames. With a roar, the flames turned emerald green and rose higher than Fred, who stepped right in and shouted, ‘Diagon Alley!’ and vanished.

Ron drifted off into a daydream as his parents explained to Harry how to use the Floo Network, barely noticing as George followed Fred up the chimney.

At last, Harry stepped into the fireplace and Ron winced as he started choking on the soot.

‘D-D- Diagonalley,’ he sneezed incomprehensibly.

‘That wasn’t very clear,’ Ginny pointed out as he disappeared.

‘No, it wasn’t,’ Mrs Weasley frowned. ‘Go on, Ron.’

Ron threw the powder into the fire, stepped into it and shouted, ‘Diagon Alley!’

He shot out of the fireplace in the Leaky Cauldron, right at Fred and George’s feet.

‘Where’s Harry,’ he heard Fred ask while he was dusting himself off.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I thought he was coming next,’ said George.

‘He was. He did. Must’ve got off at the wrong grate.’

Ginny flew out of the fireplace at them, followed by Percy and Mr and Mrs Weasley

‘Ah. Thought this might have happened. He wasn’t very clear…’ Mr Weasley said as he helped Ginny up. Mrs Weasley looked horrified.

‘I’m sure he’s fine, Mum,’ said George, pushing Percy over, who was still getting to his feet.

‘We should have just brought him by broom-‘

‘ _Ron!’_

John emerged from a shady corner of the pub, with a petite, blonde woman who was presumably his mother.

‘Hey, John,’ the all grinned.

‘Good summer?’

They nodded and made noises of affirmative.

‘Have you seen Harry?’ Ron asked.

‘No, is he here?’

‘Dunno. Could be anywhere,’ said Fred.

‘Oh, come on, Mum, he’s Harry Potter. He’s not likely to be lost forever, is he?’

‘Yeah, he’ll turn up,’ George reassured.

‘He must be so frightened, the poor dear.’

‘Don’t worry, we’ll find him,’ Mr Weasley smiled. ‘Right boys?’

The Weasleys made for the door and John hesitated.

‘Don’t worry, John, go with your friends. I’ll be fine,’ Mrs Watson smiled kindly.

John gave her a swift hug and said, ‘I’ll meet you at Gringotts,’ before dashing off after the Weasley boys.

After racing up and down Diagon Alley a few times, they had still not found him.

‘I think I should probably go and find my mum,’ John panted.

‘All right, we’ll come with you,’ said Ron. They walked back up towards Gringotts, when a skinny boy with dark, messy curls backed out of the Apothecary, examining a jar of newt eyes. John grinned, immediately recognising Sherlock Holmes. His hair now obscured the entire top half of his face, leaving only the end of his nose and his mouth in view.

‘How can you even see past all that hair?’

‘Ah, John, I wondered when you’d get here,’ he said, looking up from his jar, a small smile playing upon his lips. ‘Why are you all out of breath?’

‘We lost Harry after he used Floo powder for the first time,’ Ron explained. Sherlock looked at them in confusion.

‘But he’s just over there with Hagrid, Hermione and Castiel,’ he said, pointing towards the foot of the white steps leading up to Gringotts. And indeed he was. Ron and the other Weasleys sprinted up to them. Mrs Weasley appeared as well, dragging Ginny along with her. John glanced about.

‘Are you on your own?’ he asked. Sherlock looked around vaguely.

‘Mycroft’s around here somewhere.’

He turned away and went to the others.

‘Sherlock! John!’ Castiel said delightedly. He had grown a few inches over the summer and was now almost as tall as Hermione. He had on his ever-present trench coat, though it did not drag on the ground so much anymore and the shadow of a bruise rested on his cheek.

‘What happened to your face?’ John asked. Castiel looked at him quizzically before touching the bruise lightly.

‘This? I fell off my broom,’ he said. ‘It was my fault. I was not paying attention to my surroundings. Come, Gabriel is waiting for me inside.’

They entered the bank at the behest of a bowing goblin, into a long, white marble hall, where various parents and siblings were waiting to be introduced to one another.

‘But you’re _Muggles,’_ Mr Weasley exclaimed delightedly, catching sight of Hermione’s parents and John’s mother. ‘We must have a drink!’

‘We should all meet back here,’ Ron muttered as Mr Weasley led the Grangers and Mrs Watson out of the bank.

Everyone except John and Hermione were led underground by goblins. Castiel and Gabriel went to take a different cart to the rest of them.

‘Our vault is quite close to the top, it’s pretty new,’ Gabriel explained before shooting off at breakneck speed. Harry greatly enjoyed his own cart ride, though Sherlock could think of several things he’d rather be doing and held tightly on to the rail.

First stop was the Weasleys’ vault. Even Sherlock looked slightly uncomfortable as Mrs Weasley scooped the last few coins from their vault. Mycroft made a mental note to get Arthur Weasley a raise.

Next was Harry’s vault. He hastily attempted to block the contents of his vault from view while he filled a bag with coins.

Finally, far underground, they came to the Holmes’ vault. Larger than Harry had ever seen and when it was opened, he saw nothing but ribbon-tied rolls of parchment, stone slab-sized books and delicate, golden instruments. Mycroft disappeared inside and returned with a large, clinking bag full of coins.

At last, they returned to the surface, where Castiel took a grateful breath of fresh air.

‘We’ll all meet at Flourish and Blotts in an hour,’ Mrs Weasley said. Gabriel pressed a few coins into Castiel’s hand.

‘I have to make a stop at the Apothecary, so I’ll get your things while I’m there, okay?’

Castiel nodded and Gabriel disappeared into the crowd. Mycroft also left in the direction of the _Daily Prophet_ offices, closely followed by Percy, who still seemed eager to impress.

Left to their own devices, the group decided to sit down and get some ice cream while Sherlock regaled them with stories about things he’d blown up over the holidays. Once they were done, they wandered up the alley, looking at the things in all the shop windows. Ron gazed longingly at a full set of Chudley Cannon robes blazing bright orange through the window of ‘Quality Quidditch Supplies’ until Hermione dragged them away to buy parchment next door. In Gambol and Japes Wizarding Joke shop, they ran into Fred and George and their friend Lee Jordan, who were busy stocking up on ‘Dr Filibuster’s Fabulous Wet Start, No Heat Fireworks’.

Finally, an hour had passed, so they headed for Flourish and Blotts, but, to their surprise, they saw a large crowd gathered outside the door trying to get in. The reason for this was spread across a large, brightly coloured banner stretched over the upper windows.

_GILDEROY LOCKHART_

_will be signing copies of his autobiography_

_MAGICAL ME_

_today 12:30- 4:30_

‘We can actually meet him!’ Hermione squealed. ‘I mean, he’s written most of the booklist!’

A harassed- looking wizard stood by the door, attempting to calm the crowd of witches down. They squeezed through the crowd, into the shop, where the queue wound right to the back of the building. They each grabbed a copy of _Break with a Banshee_ and snuck up to where the rest of the Weasleys, the Grangers and Mrs Watson where standing.

‘Oh good, you’re all here,’ Mrs Weasley said. ‘We’ll be able to see him in a minute.’

She sounded rather breathless and kept patting her hair. Castiel began to feel a little uncomfortable at the masses of people crushing in around him and jumped as a pair of hands placed themselves on his shoulders.

‘Hey, it’s just me,’ Gabriel said softly. Slowly, Gilderoy Lockhart came in to view, surrounded by large photographs of himself, all winking and flashing their bright white teeth at them. The real Lockhart was wearing robes of forget-me-not blue that exactly matched his eyes. His pointed wizard’s hat perched at a jaunty angle on the top of his head. Sherlock’s mouth twisted at the sight of him.

A short, irritable man was bobbing around with a camera that kept emitting clouds of purplish-black smoke. He shoved Castiel roughly aside in his haste to get a good picture. Castiel tripped over Ron’s foot and landed with a smack on the ground.

‘Hey, watch what you’re doing!’ Gabriel yelled at the photographer, helping Castiel back up.

‘Stand aside, this is for the _Daily Prophet_ ,’ he said back stiffly.

‘I’m fine, Gabriel,’ Castiel mumbled, rubbing his arm. Gabriel shouted at the photographer again and caught Lockhart’s eye. He saw Gabriel first, then Harry. He stared. Then he leapt to his feet and positively shouted, ‘It _can’t_ be Harry Potter?’

The crowd parted, whispering excitedly and Lockhart dived for Harry, grabbed his arm and yanked him up to the front. Sherlock chuckled quietly to himself as Harry flushed bright red at having his picture taken. Lockhart threw an arm around Harry’s shoulders, clamping him tightly to his side.

‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he said loudly, waving for quiet. ‘What an extraordinary moment this is! The perfect moment for me to make a little announcement I’ve been sitting on for some time!

‘When young Harry here stepped into Flourish and Blotts today, he only wanted to buy my autobiography- which I shall be happy to present him now, free of charge- he had _no idea_ that he would shortly be getting much, much ,more than my book, _Magical Me._ He and his fellow school friends will, in fact, be getting the real, magical me. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I have great pleasure in announcing that, this September, I will be taking up the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!’

Sherlock gave a small cry of disgust, but no one but John heard him over the claps and cheers that followed the announcement. He watched on as Harry found himself being presented with the entire works of Gilderoy Lockhart and staggered away to stand by Ginny and her new cauldron. John looked over his shoulder and saw a blond head that was unmistakably Draco Malfoy’s shove his way towards them. He elbowed Sherlock and nodded his head towards them.

‘I see them,’ he said and slipped through the crowd to stand by their side, at which point, Harry and Hermione were gripping the back of Ron’s jacket to stop him from attacking Malfoy.

‘Ron!’ said Mr Weasley, suddenly appearing behind them. ‘What are you doing? It’s mad in here, let’s go outside.’

‘Well, well, well- Arthur Weasley.’

It was Mr Malfoy, his slow, drawling tone making John’s skin crawl. He stood with his hand on Draco’s shoulder.

‘Lucius,’ said Mr Weasley coldly.

‘Busy time at the Ministry, I hear,’ said Mr Malfoy. ‘All those raids… I do hope they’re paying you overtime?’

He reached into Ginny’s cauldron and extracted, from amongst the glossy Lockhart books that Harry had dumped in there, a very, very battered copy of _A Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration._

‘Obviously not,’ he said. ‘Dear me, what’s the use of being a disgrace to the name of wizard if they don’t even pay you well for it?’

John clenched his jaw and tried not to open his mouth, lest profanities come pouring out.

‘We have a very different idea of what disgraces the name of wizard, Malfoy,’ Mr Weasley said.

‘Clearly,’ said Mr Malfoy, his pale eyes straying to the Grangers and Mrs Watson, who were watching apprehensively. ‘The company you keep, Weasley… and I thought your family could sink no lower-‘

Mr Weasley threw himself at Mr Malfoy, knocking him backwards into a bookshelf. The crowd stampeded backwards, away from the falling books and very nearly knocking Castiel over again. Sherlock found himself suddenly gripped by cold fury. How dare he speak about John’s mother that way? He began pelting large (and heavy) spellbooks at Mr Malfoy, much to the delight of Fred and George.

‘Break it up there, gents, break it up-‘ Hagrid’s loud voice called as he waded through the sea of fallen books. In an instant he pulled the two fighting men apart and John had to grab Sherlock’s arm to stop him from slinging an _Encyclopaedia of Toadstools._

‘Here, girl- take your book,’ Mr Malfoy said, thrusting Ginny’s Transfiguration book at her. ‘It’s the best your father can give you.’

He pulled himself out of Hagrid’s grip and dragged Draco from the shop. The rest of them soon followed, leaving Gilderoy Lockhart talking excitedly to a reporter.

‘You don’t think you could work that into the report, do you? It’s all publicity, you know, although it’s a pity those Winchester boys didn’t turn up. That would have made the front page for a week…’

Outside, Mycroft had finally returned with Percy.

‘Can John stay with us, Mycroft?’ Sherlock asked suddenly. ‘For the rest of the holidays?’

John gaped at him and Mycroft raised an eyebrow.

‘ _Please,_ Mycroft?’

Mycroft hesitated, and then sighed.

‘All right, I suppose so- _If_ it’s all right with Mrs Watson.’

John turned to his mother.

‘Can I, Mum?’

She eyed him and folded her arms.

‘On one condition,’ she said. ‘You come home for Christmas.’

John grinned widely.

‘Deal!’ he laughed, hugging her tightly. ‘Tell Harry I said goodbye.’

‘Of course I will. Now, how do I get out of here?’

John laughed again.

‘We’ll take you.’

Everyone walked back up to the Leaky Cauldron, where they said goodbye to each other, promising to write and wishing them a good rest of the holidays.

‘I’ll see you all soon!’ Hermione waved, leaving with her parents.

‘I’ll be along for John’s things later,’ Mycroft informed Mrs Watson as, one by one, the Weasleys, Harry, Castiel and Gabriel disappeared in the fireplace in a roar of green flames. John hugged her again and watched her leave through the front door.

‘Are we going by Floo powder?’ John asked.

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Sherlock snorted. ‘We came by car.’


	2. The Whomping Willow

The Whomping Willow

  The last few weeks of the holidays were the least boring Sherlock had ever had. The first night John stayed over; they spent the afternoon pushing an extra bed into Sherlock’s spacious bedroom only to construct a crude blanket fort in the corner between the two beds. Throughout the weeks it was there that they stashed various snacks and treats pilfered from the kitchen. Most nights, John slept like a log, while Sherlock found himself wide awake beside him, staring up at the deep blue ceiling of their little fort.

 At last, after weeks of playing childish tricks on Mycroft whenever he was in, Sherlock decided that he was ready to go back to Hogwarts. He missed being allowed to do magic. The night before they were due to leave everything went smoothly. Everything was packed and ready to go. Mycroft sent them to bed a little earlier than usual, as Sherlock had a tendency to oversleep (when he slept).

  Sherlock had managed to force himself to sleep when something disturbed from his barely unconscious state. He blinked awake and felt John writhing in his sleep beside him. Propping himself up on his elbow he looked down at John’s fear-creased face, eyeballs flicking this way and that underneath their lids, and groaning softly. He put his other hand to John’s shoulder to try and rouse him but, as soon as he touched his palm to the fabric pyjamas darkness pressed down over his eyes- he was blind! It twisted itself into all of his senses until he could no longer tell where he was, feeling and seeing nothing but John beneath his fingers and a dull, ominous hissing in his ears.

  It was over as quickly as it had begun. His sight cleared and he fell backwards onto his own pile of blankets and cushions. John remained as he was, whimpering and tangled in the bedclothes. Sherlock quietly crawled out of the fort, threw a silk dressing gown around his shoulders and crept from the room.

  Later, John awoke, breathing heavily, and sat up slowly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. As the drowsiness seeped from his body, he realised he was drenched in sweat and suddenly felt very sticky and dirty, so he climbed out of the fort (getting somewhat entangled as he went) and walked slowly to the bathroom, where he splashed water across his face. The water dripped into the pristine white sink and John heard music reverberating off the tiles. It was sweet but mournful so he followed the sound, seeing that it was almost dawn as he passed a window. He came to a large, almost bare room with the opposite wall almost completely made of glass. The meagre light from outside silhouetted Sherlock and the instrument he held in his hand.

‘You play violin?’ John said quietly. Sherlock ended his song with a flourish of the bow.

‘It helps me think,’ he murmured without looking away from the window. John lowered himself to the ground and hugged his knees, leaning against the wall. Sherlock started playing again and John felt his eyelids droop.

‘What are you thinking about?’

Sherlock stared out of the window, not particularly concentrating on his music.

‘Many things, I suppose,’ he mumbled, but John didn’t hear him, having fallen asleep where he sat. Which was just as well, Sherlock supposed. He had been reminded of the night he and Castiel had met the centaurs in the Forbidden Forest and it just so happened that he was thinking of the prophecy they’d told them about. But he couldn’t tell John, he wasn’t ready yet. But when would he be? Could what had happened earlier that night be that ‘connection’ they’d mentioned? Sherlock’s gaze softened as he saw how small John looked in this room and took off his dressing gown so that he could drape it over John to keep him warm.

  When the sun had risen, John woke again to find an empty room and the sun shining in his eyes. Stumbling down the stairs, he found Sherlock and Mycroft, fully dressed, in the kitchen.

‘Good morning,’ Sherlock said, handing him a steaming cup of tea.

‘Everything’s already been loaded into the car, ready to go whenever you are, John,’ Mycroft told him.

  About an hour later, John set down his empty mug and went back upstairs to throw on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. Outside a sleek, black car was waiting for them with miniature Ministry flags attached to the bonnet with everything already packed into the boot already packed with their trunks.

‘How does everything fit in the boot?’ John asked, enjoying the feeling of the supple leather seats as he climbed into the back of the car.

‘Undetectable Extension Charm,’ Sherlock said. ‘Pretty self-explanatory.’

They arrived at King’s Cross in good time and bumped into Gabriel and Castiel, who was limping, carrying a large cage containing Grace.

‘What happened to your leg?’ John asked him.

‘Not my leg, my foot. I dropped my trunk on it.’

They grabbed trollies for their trunks and walked into the station.

‘This is where I leave you, Sherlock. I trust you can get all of your things on the train?’

Sherlock rolled his eyes in place of a reply, pushed his trolley at the barrier between platforms nine and ten and disappeared in the blink of an eye. John went next, followed by Castiel and, finally, Gabriel. The train was already half full and they found Hermione in a compartment on her own about a third of the way up the train. Gabriel headed off down the carriage with both his and Castiel’s trunks to find his friend. Castiel curled up in a corner, placed Grace carefully down, wrapped himself in his coat and drew a glossy, new copy of ‘ _Holidays with Hags’_ from his coat pocket. Hermione followed suit and Sherlock lay himself across the seats on one side of the compartment and stared at the ceiling.

 ‘Sherlock, are you okay?’ John asked concernedly, sitting down beside Hermione.

‘Fine, why?’

‘Well, you didn’t get much sleep last night-‘

‘I can go a while without sleep.’

John shrugged and sat back in his seat. He looked out of the window and saw a clock, which read ten fifty-five.

‘Hey, have any of you seen Harry and the Weasley’s yet?’ John asked. Hermione looked up from her book, shook her head, and frowned.

‘They’re cutting it a bit fine, don’t you think?’

Sherlock shrugged.

‘They’ll be here.’

An uncomfortable feeling filled John’s stomach. He felt like pacing around the compartment but it lacked the room to pace in. Finally, the train’s whistle blew and it slowly began to pull out of the slowly began to pull out of the station.

‘I think they may have missed the train,’ John said.

‘But how will they get to school?’ Hermione worried, biting her lip.

‘By doing something unbelievably idiotic, I should imagine,’ Sherlock muttered.

‘ _Sherlock,’_ John chastised.

‘Well, it is Ron.’

‘Perhaps we ought to send a letter to Hogwarts,’ Hermione broke in. ‘May we borrow Grace, Castiel?’

‘Of course,’ he said, undoing the catch on her cage. She flapped out and waited obediently on the top of the cage until Hermione was done writing her letter. She opened the window and put Grace carefully out of it. Castiel put his book down and gingerly removed his shiny, black shoe and peeled off his sock to reveal a swollen, purple and blue bruised mess of a foot. John whistled sympathetically. It looked so sore that he could practically see it throbbing.

‘Looks broken to me,’ he said. Castiel poked it with his wand.

‘Fractured,’ he grimaced.

‘Ouch. Does anyone have any bandages or anything?’

Castiel shook his head and waved his wand.

‘ _Ferula,’_ he said calmly. Bandages wrapped themselves tightly around his foot. He rubbed it with his hand and, seemingly satisfied with his handiwork, went back to his book. The kindly old witch that pushed the lunch trolley came and went, none of them buying anything. John’s eyelids began to droop and he had just about nodded off until he heard the compartment door slide open and Sherlock tut impatiently. He opened his eyes and saw Anderson and Donovan standing in the doorway.

‘What do you want?’ John asked warily.

‘What’s up, Watson, we were just wondering who you think the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher is,’ said Donovan.

‘Well, it’s quite clearly a witch, considering nearly the entire booklist is Lockhart books-‘

‘Oh don’t talk out loud, Anderson, you’ll lower the IQ of the entire train,’ Sherlock interrupted.

‘Well then, who do you think it is, freak?’

‘Don’t call him that, Donovan,’ John scowled.

‘Why not, he is.’

‘Just leave it, Sally, we won’t get anywhere with his guard dog around, anyway,’ Anderson said, dragging Donovan away.

‘Well that was weird,’ John said. Sherlock dismissed it with a grunt. The sun had reached its midday peak a long while ago and was now starting to sink in the sky. John got up, stuck his head out of the window and looked straight up in the sky but saw nothing but clouds.

‘What are you looking at?’ Hermione asked him.

‘Nothing,’ he said, pulling his head back in. ‘Good book?’ he added to Castiel.

‘This Gilderoy Lockhart seems to be very good,’ he mumbled.

‘Please, have you read his autobiography?’ Sherlock scoffed. ‘It’s more inconsistent than Mycroft’s relationship with food.’

Castiel narrowed his eyes at Sherlock over the top of the book.

‘You’re just jealous, Sherlock,’ Hermione sniffed.

‘Of what?’

‘That he’s seen and done so much more than you.’

‘Come on, Hermione, just because you fancy him-‘

‘I do _not_!’

John laughed so hard he fell off his seat. His laughter was infectious and soon Hermione was laughing too, Sherlock was grinning to himself and Castiel’s shoulders were shaking from silent giggles. All too soon, though. Hermione was buried in her book again and Sherlock was back to having a staring contest with the ceiling, leaving John to lament sitting with a group of people that enjoy silence and wonder where Harry and Ron were. He didn’t notice he’d fallen asleep until he felt Sherlock shaking him awake. It was dark outside and he was the only one not in his robes yet.

‘Hurry up and get changed, we’re almost there,’ Sherlock said. John threw his cloak over his head and was just tying his crimson tie when the train began to slow. Hermione and Castiel packed away their books away and waited patiently for the train to slide to a stop.

  With a squeal of brakes the Hogwarts Express stopped at Hogsmeade station, accompanied by the scrapes and thunks of all the students grabbing their luggage. Castiel clutched Grace’s cage tightly to his chest and made his way through the crush of bodies, desperate to find his brother and his luggage. He’d lost the others far back along the corridor and managed to be one of the first off the train. He breathed in the night air and loosened his claw like grip on the metal bars of the cage. People suddenly began to jostle him and stars danced in front of his eyes as someone stepped on his injured foot and making his head spin further when the same person dragged their trunk over it.

‘You are so carrying your own luggage next time- hey, are you okay?’

Gabriel’s face swam into view and he nodded slightly.

‘Right, I totally believe you. Is it your foot?’

He nodded again.

‘Can you walk?’

He took a cautious step forward, winced, but found it could take his weight. For now.

‘Where are your friends?’

‘Gabriel, I’m fine,’ he said, taking hold of his trunk.

‘Yeah, you tell me that when you’re not hopping worse than a one-legged pigeon. Come on.’

Gabriel made to take back the trunk but Castiel wouldn’t let go.

‘I’m _fine.’_

Just then John tripped over to him.

‘Hey there you are. We don’t go across the lake this year, we go in carriages. Come on, we saved a seat for you.

Gabriel rolled his eyes.

‘All right, just make sure you go to Madam Pomfrey as soon as you can.’

John led him away to the carriages. Sherlock was fascinated by them, as they seemed to be pulling themselves. He couldn’t wait to find out what kind of magic it was.

‘Found him,’ John said as he pulled himself up into the carriage. Sherlock looked over and Castiel seemed to be staring at the space between the carriage shafts, his eyes wide.

‘What is it?’ Sherlock asked. He tore his eyes away and climbed up without a word.

  The carriages trundled up the track and the winged boars of the castle gates came into view. All four of them were pleased to see it. It was cool but not uncomfortably so as they filed into the Entrance hall.

‘It’ll be weird watching the Sorting this year,’ John commented in an attempt to break the silence between them.

‘I suppose it’ll be rather odd,’ Hermione agreed.

Sherlock and Castiel attempted to sit at the Gryffindor table in the hopes that the new Head Boy and Girl wouldn’t notice, but Mycroft had already fully briefed them and all the Prefects. Instead, they found themselves sat firmly between the two Ravenclaw Prefects. John and Hermione sat down and found Fred, George and Percy along the table.

‘Fred, George!’ John called. ‘Where’re Harry and Ron?’

They looked around.

‘Dunno, we thought they were with you!’ Fred said in surprise.

‘They’ll turn up,’ George reassured.

‘Hey! Hey, Watson!’

John turned his head towards the voice.

‘Where’s Potter? Did he decide he wasn’t fit to be around real wizards?’ Malfoy said from the Slytherin table. John didn’t bother to provide an answer. He and Hermione sat listening to the conversation around them. They heard one boy describing how he’d driven a Muggle car all around a field by his house.

‘So, what did you get up to over the summer, Hermione?’ John asked, grateful for the opportunity to talk to her without a book blocking her face.

‘Well, I read this really fascinating book about early wizards and when they started to differentiate between hexes and curses.’

John smiled to himself. She was enthusiastic to say the least.

‘Where do you think they are?’ she asked, biting her lip.

‘They can’t be far,’ John said reassuringly.

  Sherlock found himself sliding further and further down on the bench. Why do feasts have to be so boring? He looked at Castiel, who seemed to be in a world of his own and rubbing his foot absent-mindedly. At last, the hall fell silent as Professor McGonagall placed a rickety old, three-legged stool at the front before the high table, and put the tattered and frayed Sorting Hat on top of it. She left and, after a few minutes, returned with a crowd of frightened first-years. A few of them gasped as the hat opened the rip near its brim and started talking.

_The sight of me may not be nice_

_But do not avert your eyes…_

  Sherlock sighed and closed his eyes. The Sorting Hat’s song was so _boring_ now that he wasn’t in the ceremony. Now, if it went into explicit detail on the proper method of jinx casting, it might stand a chance of being interesting. Castiel nudged him gently.

‘I’m worried about Harry and Ron,’ he whispered. Sherlock groaned and sat up straight, ruffling his hair.

‘Don’t worry, Castiel, even if it wasn’t Harry, you would still be able to spot Ron’s hair from miles away. Someone will find them.’

At last, the Sorting Hat was finished with its song and Professor McGonagall pulled out a scroll and unfurled it. Sherlock glared at Snape, spotting him exiting the room quietly through a side door.

‘He’s up to something,’ Sherlock said to Castiel.

‘You’re always so suspicious of him.’

‘Well, he’s a suspicious man.’

‘You suspected him of attempting to murder a student and trying to bring You-Know-Who back to power.’

‘Yes, and?’

‘And you were wrong. Leave it alone.’

‘Creevey, Colin,’ Professor McGonagall announced. A mousy-haired, little boy wobbled up to the stool and sat down. They all got a glimpse of his painfully excited expression before the hat slipped over his eyes. It hesitated for a moment before, ‘GRYFFINDOR!’

The Gryffindor table erupted into cheers as the year’s first new student became one of their own. John and Hermione clapped along with them.

‘Doyle, Hannah.’

‘HUFFLEPUFF!’

It was the Hufflepuffs’ turn to cheer now, Gabriel among them with his gleaming new, yellow Prefect’s badge.

‘Georgia Fenn.’

‘GRYFFINDOR!’

This girl walked confidently to the table as if she’d been expecting this her whole life and John supposed she probably had. He sighed and gazed at his empty plate longingly, regretting not having eaten on the train. He looked back up at the first-years and groaned at how many of them were still left.

‘Lovegood, Luna.’

A girl with long, dirty-blonde hair skipped up to the Sorting Hat and gently put it on her head. The hat looked like it was chuckling quietly to itself before, ‘RAVENCLAW!’

She thanked the hat and put it back on the stool. John watched her skip to the Ravenclaw table and gaze dreamily at her goblet.

‘Moriarty, James.’

John’s head snapped back round to look at the boy strolling casually up to the three-legged stool. Something in the name caught his attention, though he wished it hadn’t. This James Moriarty had the most revolting smile on his face that seemed to freeze John in place.

‘SLYTHERIN!’

Naturally, John thought. His horrible expression had not shifted at all and as he made his way over to the Slytherin table, he caught John’s eye. Suddenly, he felt slightly queasy and tore his eyes away just in time to catch the next Sorting.

‘Morstan, Mary.’

John closed his eyes and attempted to rid himself of the awful feeling that had accumulated in his gut.

‘SLYTHERIN!’

He forced himself to look back at has plate and try to coax back the appetite that, moments before, had been filling his mind with thoughts of food, but was now completely gone. The line of first-years dwindled to the last two.

‘Vickery, Jasmine,’ was sorted into Ravenclaw and finally, Ron’s sister, Ginny.

‘Weasley, Ginevra,’ Professor McGonagall called. Ginny stepped up, her flaming hair visible from all sides.

If it had eyes, the hat probably would have rolled them.

‘GRYFFINDOR!’ it said almost lazily.

As soon as Ginny took her place beside Hermione, Dumbledore stood up to greet them.

‘Welcome to another year at Hogwarts!’ he announced cheerfully. ‘Or your first! Before we begin our fantastic feast, there are a few words I would like to say, and they are: dactylion, squid, rubber.

‘You may begin!’

All the gold dishes and goblets filled with delicious food and drink. It was clearly meant to distract people from Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore exiting the room the way Snape had gone, his face briefly appearing around the door. John nudged Hermione and nodded towards the door. She caught them just as they were closing it.

‘I think it’s safe to say they found Harry and Ron,’ he said.

‘Looks like it,’ she grimaced. John looked across and Sherlock and Castiel to see if they’d noticed and with Sherlock’s sharp gaze fixed firmly on the door, John thought it was possible that he had. The feast passed at a sluggish pace, though Snape, McGonagall and Dumbledore soon returned, with Snape looking particularly sour. John picked forlornly at some cabbage while Hermione kept glancing at the main door, waiting for Harry and Ron to come in. Sherlock caught John’s eye with a questioning look, which he countered with a nod towards Castiel, who had put his head in his hands and was not even touching his food. The pain emanating from his foot was now beginning to overwhelm him with sharp stabs shooting up his leg. The main course vanished and was replaced by sweet-smelling puddings which the Prefects either side of them eagerly dug into. Castiel removed his shoe and sock again and unwound the bandage discreetly under the table. He put a hand on it and he could feel it radiating heat. The bruise had spread and turned his toes and ankle a mottled pink, green and purple. He sighed resignedly, pointed his wand and whispered ‘ _Ferula’_. Fresh bandages wound around his foot, while he stuffed the old ones into his pocket- followed by his sock and shoe- and he looked up right into Sherlock’s face. At that, the puddings too disappeared and they waited patiently for Dumbledore to make his start-of-term speech warning the first-years against the Forbidden Forest and reminding all students of banned items.

  The noise in the hall heightened as people began to make their way out to the entrance hall. Sherlock pushed through the crowds and found John and Hermione outside. Castiel had disappeared into the crowd. Fred and George came up behind them and one of them tapped Hermione on the shoulder.

‘Hey, we talked to some first-years and apparently they saw a flying car while they were crossing the lake,’ said Fred.

‘What and you think Ron and Harry were the ones flying it?’ Hermione said sceptically. ‘That’s ridiculous.’

‘Well, there’s also this,’ George said, whipping out a copy of the _Evening Prophet_. The headline read: FLYING FORD ANGLIA MYSTEFIES MUGGLES.

‘”Two Muggles in London, convinced they saw an old car flying over the Post Office tower…”,’ George read out. Hermione rolled her eyes.

‘There’s no way they haven’t been expelled for this.’

‘Come on, they couldn’t possibly be that stupid-‘

‘Oh, they could,’ Sherlock interrupted.

‘Even if they weren’t, I’m pretty sure we own the only flying Ford Anglia,’ Fred pointed out. ‘Oh well, we’ll find out soon enough. The password’s ‘wattlebird’ by the way, see you later.’

Fred and George said goodbye and hurried off up the marble staircase.

‘Did either of you see where Castiel went?’ Sherlock asked.

‘No.’

Sherlock shrugged.

‘He’s probably gone to get his foot mended. I’ll see you tomorrow,’ and he too left for his dormitory.

  Hermione and John lingered in the Entrance hall until it was all but empty.

‘Maybe they’re already up there,’ John suggested. Hermione reluctantly agreed, so they climbed the stairs in silence. They reached the flight just before the portrait of the Fat Lady and found Harry and Ron standing outside. Hermione and John glanced at each other briefly before running up the rest of the stairs towards them.

‘ _There_ you are!’ Hermione exclaimed. ‘Where have you _been?_ The most _ridiculous_ rumours- Fred and George said you’d been expelled for crashing a flying _car.’_

_‘_ Well, we haven’t been expelled,’ Harry assured them.

‘You’re not telling me you _did_ fly here?’

John started laughing beside her but stopped at the stern look she gave him.

‘Don’t encourage them!’ she said. ‘They could have gotten in serious trouble!’

‘Skip the lecture and tell us the password,’ Ron said impatiently.

‘It’s ‘wattlebird’,’ Hermione said, ‘but that’s not the point-‘

She was cut short by a storm of applause that burst through the portrait hole. It looked as if the entire Gryffindor house had crowded into the common room to wait for them to arrive. They were pulled into the room by outstretched arms, forcing Hermione and John to squeeze their way in behind them.

‘Brilliant!’ yelled Lee Jordan. ‘Inspired! Flying a car right into the Whomping Willow, people’ll be talking about that one for years!’

Hermione rolled her eyes and tutted irritably.

‘Come one, Hermione, lighten up. They weren’t expelled or hurt- well except that cut on Ron’s face- it could have been worse,’ John said good-naturedly. She shook her head and folded her arms. John grinned and followed Harry and Ron as they escaped up to the dormitory, making their excuses. Their trunks had been brought up for them and John entered the room just as they were having their spectacular entrance praised by Dean, Seamus and Neville.

‘A flying car? _Really?’_ John laughed. Harry grinned sheepishly and they stayed up late into the night, describing exactly what had happened.


	3. Gilderoy Lockhart

Gilderoy Lockhart

The next morning saw a slightly more cheerful, limp-free Castiel, who sat down next to Hermione at the breakfast table.

'That's a good one,' he said, gesturing at the copy of  _Voyages with Vampires_ that she had propped open against a milk jug. She nodded vaguely without taking her eyes off the page. Content to sit quietly beside Hermione, he munched on a heavily buttered piece of toast until the Gryffindor boys arrived and sat down on her other side.

'Good morning,' he said brightly, as did Neville Longbottom opposite them.

'Post's due any minute- I think Gran's sending on a few things I forgot,' Neville said, just as Sherlock walked in and sat opposite John. No sooner had John grabbed a bowl of porridge did hundreds of owls stream in and circle the hall, dropping parcels on tables. A big, lumpy package bounced off Neville's head and something large and grey fell into Hermione's jug, spraying them all with milk and feathers.

' _Errol_!' Ron exclaimed, pulling him out of the jug by his feet. Errol slumped unconscious, with a damp, red envelope clamped in his beak.

'Oh, no-' Ron gasped.

'It's all right, he's still alive,' said Hermione, prodding Errol with the tip of her finger.

'It's not that- it's  _that_.'

He pointed at the red envelope. It looked ordinary enough, but Neville, Ron and Sherlock were all looking at it as if it were about to explode, and Castiel jumped back and fell out of his seat when he saw it.

'What's the matter?' said Harry.

'She- she sent me a Howler,' said Ron faintly.

'You'd better open it, Ron,' said Neville in a timid whisper. 'It'll be worse if you don't. My gran sent me one once, and I ignored it and- it was horrible.'

John frowned in confusion at the slight flicker of fear that crossed even Sherlock's face.

'What's a Howler?' he asked.

'You'll see,' Sherlock grimaced as the envelope began to smoke at the corners. Ron slit it open with shaking hands and Neville stuffed his fingers in his ears.

'What-' John began, but he never got to finish his sentence as a booming roar filled the Hall.

'…  _STEALING THE CAR, I WOULDN'T HAVE BEEN SURPRISED IF THEY'D EXPELLED YOU, YOU WAIT TILL I GET HOLD OF YOU, I DON'T SUPPOSE YOU STOPPED TO THINK WHAT YOUR FATHER AND I WENT THROUGH WHEN WE SAW IT HAD GONE…'_

John clamped his hands over his ears in an attempt to block out the sound of Mrs Weasley's yells that were making the plates and spoons on the table rattle. People throughout the Hall were swivelling round in their seats to see who had received the Howler and Ron sank so low in his chair that only the top of his red head was showing.

'…  _LETTER FROM DUMBLEDORE LAST NIGHT, I THOUGHT YOUR FATHER WOULD DIE OF SHAME. WE DIDN'T BRING YOU UP TO BEHAVE LIKE THIS, YOU AND HARRY COULD BOTH HAVE DIED…'_

John's eardrums were starting to throb and Sherlock's eyes were squeezed shut. He wished it would be over soon.

'…  _ABSOLUTELY DISGUSTED, YOUR FATHER'S NOW FACING AN ENQUIREY AT WORK AND IT'S ENTIRELY YOUR FAULT. IF YOU PUT ANOTHER TOE OUT OF LINE, WE'LL BRING YOU STRAIGHT BACK HOME.'_

A ringing silence fell and the red envelope burst into flames and curled into ashes. John lowered his hands cautiously and Castiel pulled himself out from under the table, trembling slightly. A few people laughed and gradually, a babble of talk broke out again.

Hermione closed  _Voyages with Vampires_ and looked down at the top of Ron's head.

'Well, I don't know what you expected, Ron, but you-'

'Don't tell me I deserve it,' snapped Ron.

John shook his head, his ears still ringing and a dull ache began to fill his skull. But there was no time to dwell on this, as Professor McGonagall was walking along the Gryffindor table, handing out timetables. She reached them, narrowed her eyes at Sherlock and Castiel before handing them theirs as well. The Gryffindors had double Herbology with the Hufflepuffs, while the Ravenclaws had Transfiguration first.

John, Harry, Ron and Hermione left the castle together, crossed the vegetable patches and made for the greenhouses. As they neared them, they saw the rest of the class waiting for Professor Sprout. They joined them just as the professor came striding across the lawn, accompanied by Gilderoy Lockhart. Bandages filled her arms and John spotted the Whomping Willow in the distance, several of its branches were now in slings.

'Oh, hello there!' Lockhart called to them. His vibrant, turquoise robes made John's eyes water.

'Just showing Professor Sprout here the proper way to doctor a Whomping Willow. Now, I don't want you all running around with the idea that I'm better at Herbology than she is, I just happen to have come across several of these exotic plants in my travels,' he said cheerily.

'Greenhouse Three today, chaps,' said Professor Sprout, looking distinctly disgruntled. A murmur of interest rippled through the waiting students. They had only ever been in Greenhouse One- Greenhouse Three housed far more interesting and dangerous plants. As they entered, John looked up and saw some giant, umbrella-sized flowers clinging to the ceiling. Lockhart's hand shot out behind him, stopping Harry from following him in.

'Harry! I've been wanting a word- you don't mind, do you, Professor Sprout?'

Judging by the scowl on her face, she did mind, but Lockhart said, 'That's the ticket' and closed the door in her face. John stopped for a moment to rub his forehead and found himself stuck between Neville Longbottom and a Hufflepuff girl with a ponytail. Everyone settled behind the benches and looked expectantly at Professor Sprout. Harry crept quietly into the room and when he took his place with Ron and Hermione Professor Sprout said, 'We'll be re-potting Mandrakes today. Now, who can tell me the properties of the Mandrakes?'

To nobody's surprise, Hermione's hand was first into the air.

'Mandrake, or Mandragora, is a powerful restorative,' she said sounding, as usual, as though she had swallowed a textbook.

'It is used to return those who have been transfigured or cursed, to their original state,' John piped up, as much to his surprise as everyone else's. He blinked in confusion, then shrugged it off.

'Excellent, ten points to Gryffindor,' said Professor Sprout. 'The Mandrake forms an essential part of most antidotes. It is also, however, dangerous. Who can tell me why?'

'The cry of the Mandrake is fatal to anyone who hears it,' Hermione said immediately.

'Precisely. Take another ten points. Now, the Mandrakes we have here are still very young,' said Professor Sprout, pointing at a row of deep trays and John caught a glimpse of a hundred or so tufty little plants, purplish green in colour, before everyone shuffled forward to get a better view. John felt a rushing sense of déjà vu everything was strangely fluid as he grabbed a pair of earmuffs.

'When I tell you to put them on, make sure your ears are  _completely_ covered,' said Professor Sprout. 'When it is safe to remove them, I will give you the thumbs-up. Right- earmuffs  _on_.'

John and everyone snapped their earmuffs over their ears. They shut out sound completely. Professor Sprout put a pink fluffy pair over her own ears, rolled up the sleeves of her robes, grasped one of the tufty plants firmly, and pulled hard.

'Whoa!' John gasped, unheard, in surprise. Instead of roots, a small, muddy and extremely ugly baby popped out of the earth. The leaves were growing right out of his head and he was bawling at the top of his lungs, though no one could hear him past their earmuffs.

Professor Sprout took a large pot from under the table and plunged the Mandrake into it, burying him in compost until only his leaves were showing. Professor Sprout dusted off her hands and signalled for them to remove their earmuffs.

'As our Mandrakes are only seedlings, their cries won't kill you yet,' she said calmly, as though she'd done nothing more exciting than water a begonia. 'However, they will knock you out for several hours, and as I'm sure none of you want to miss your first day back, make sure your earmuffs are securely in place while you work. I will attract your attention when it's time to pack up.

'Four to a tray- there is a large supply of pots here- compost in sacks over there- and be careful of the Venomous Tentacula, it's teething.'

John joined Neville at his tray, with the Hufflepuff girl and another boy. Neville's voice washed over him with a slightly muffled quality. John looked at him, not quite focusing on him until everything was suddenly clear again.

'Are you all right?' Neville asked nervously.

'Yeah, fine,' he smiled. He turned to the Hufflepuffs next to him.

'Hey, I'm John Watson.'

The boy grinned and stuck out his hand.

'Ernie Macmillan,' he said, shaking John's hand vigorously.

'Molly Hooper,' the girl said warmly. She began dumping some compost into some of the pots in front of them.

'Hey, look, Molly. Justin's really talking their ears off,' said Ernie. Molly and John looked to where Ernie was pointing, and saw the boy called Justin chatting animatedly to Harry, Ron and Hermione. Molly stifled a giggle.

'Well, at least it's not us,' she laughed. 'It's nice to meet you, John,' she said before they had to put their earmuffs back on and concentrate on the Mandrakes. Professor Sprout had made it look so easy, but easy it was not. The Mandrakes didn't want to come out of the earth, but they didn't want to go back in either. John and Molly worked together to wrest a particularly difficult one from the tray and dump it quickly into its new pot before it wriggled from their grasp. After they'd managed to completely submerge it in soil, the bell rang for the end of the lesson and all of them were dirty and aching. Most of them wished to never come into contact with the horrible little plants ever again, but John had to admit that, even though they were a pain, he actually quite liked them. They hurried off up to the castle to have a quick was before their next lesson.

The Gryffindors had Transfiguration with Professor McGonagall. John had forgotten most of what he had learnt last year and, for a while; he stared nonchalantly at the beetle he was supposed to be turning into a button. Ron, however, was having worse problems. The wand that had snapped when they crashed into the Whomping Willow kept crackling and sparking at odd moments. Ron had attempted to put it back together with Spellotape, but it seemed to be beyond repair. Every time he tried to transfigure his beetle, thick, grey smoke issued from it and a smell of rotten eggs filled the room. Unable to see his beetle through the smoke, he accidentally squashed it with his elbow and earning himself a disapproving look from Professor McGonagall. For the last few minutes of the lesson, John fidgeted restlessly until the bell rang for lunch. Ron spent the walk to the Great Hall hitting his wand against various objects and people.

'Stupid-useless-thing,' he said, his words punctuated by sharp whacks against the stone wall.

'Well, that's hardly going to help, is it?' Hermione scolded. Sherlock and Castiel were already waiting for them in the hall.

'We just had Defence Against the Dark Arts,' Castiel said happily as they sat down.

'Oh, how was it?' Hermione asked.

'It was absolutely atrocious,' said Sherlock hotly.

'He's exaggerating,' said Castiel, chewing on a sandwich. Just then, Ron's wand made a loud, repetitive, hooting sound.

'Why don't you just write home and ask for a new one?' Harry suggested.

'Oh yeah, and get another Howler back,' said Ron, stuffing his now hissing wand into his bag. ' _It's your own fault your wand got snapped-'_

After some sandwiches they went out into the slightly overcast courtyard and sat on the steps. Hermione opened her copy of  _Voyages with Vampires_ , which Castiel read over her shoulder. After a while, Harry became aware of someone watching him and looked up and saw a very small, mousey-haired little boy, clutching what looked like a Muggle camera. He turned bright red when Harry looked at him.

'All right, Harry? I'm- I'm Colin Creevey,' he said breathlessly. 'I'm in Gryffindor too. D'you think-would it be all right if- can I have a picture?' he said, raising the camera hopefully. Sherlock choked down his disbelieving laughter.

'Shut up, Sherlock. What- what do you want a picture for?'

'So I can prove I've met you,' said Colin eagerly. 'I know all about you. Everyone's told me. About how you survived when You Know Who tried to ill you, and how he disappeared and everything, and how you've still got a lightning scar on your forehead, and a boy in my dormitory said if I develop the film in the right potion the pictures'll  _move.'_

Colin carried on talking at breakneck speed.

'Well, he's certainly enthusiastic,' John muttered to Sherlock. '-It'd be really good if I had one of you, maybe one of your friends could take it and I could stand next to you? And then, could you sign it?'

' _Signed photos?_ You're giving out  _signed photos,_ Potter?'

Malfoy's loud, scathing voice cut across the courtyard, silencing the murmur of conversation.

'Everyone queue up!' Malfoy roared. 'Harry Potter's giving out signed photos!'

'No, I'm not!' said Harry angrily. 'Shut up, Malfoy.'

All the mirth had dropped from what was visible of Sherlock's face and had been replaced by an icy scowl.

'Do us a favour and sod off, Malfoy,' John sighed, rubbing his sore head.

'This doesn't concern you, Watson,' Malfoy snarled.

'Don't talk to him like that,' spat Sherlock.

'Or what, you'll throw some of Potter's signed photos at me? Maybe you should keep them for Weasley- just one would be worth more than his entire house.'

Ron whipped out his Spellotaped wand but Hermione snapped her book shut and whispered, 'Look out!'

'What's all this, what's all this?' Gilderoy Lockhart was striding towards them, his turquoise robes stabbing John in the eyeballs with their unnatural bright colour. 'Who's giving out signed photos?'

Harry started to speak, but was cut short by Lockhart flinging an arm around his shoulders.

'Shouldn't have asked! We meet again!'

Sherlock had switched his cold glare from Malfoy to Lockhart, but he didn't notice, busy as he was flashing his bright smile at Colin's camera.

'Doesn't really work when no one can see your face,' John muttered to him. 'Are his lessons really that bad?'

'Oh, you'll find out, you have him next.'

'Have you already memorised my timetable? Don't answer that, of course you have.'

The bell rang and Lockhart dragged Harry off down the corridor.

'Well, we have Transfiguration now,' said Sherlock. 'Have fun with Lockhart.'

John rolled his eyes and walked off with Ron and Hermione, Sherlock and Castiel heading in the opposite direction.

They got to Lockhart's classroom and Ron and Hermione sat down either side of Harry, who had constructed a barrier between himself and Lockhart by stacking books on his desk. John sat in a nice, shadowy corner on his own. The rest of the class clattered in and when they were all seated, Lockhart cleared his throat loudly. Silence fell and he reached forward to pick up Neville's copy of  _Travels with Trolls,_ to hold it up and show his own, winking portrait on the front.

'Me,' he said, pointing at it and winking as well. John could already feel irritation creeping up on him and the robes shining across the room weren't helping.

'Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League and five time winner of  _Witch Weekly_ 's Most-Charming-Smile Award- but I don't talk about that. I didn't get rid of the Bandon Banshee by  _smiling_ at her!'

John groaned softly at the poor attempt at a joke.

'I see you've all bought a complete set of my books- well done. I thought we'd start today with a little quiz. Nothing to worry about- just to check how well you've read them, how much you've taken in…'

When he had handed out test papers he returned to the front of the class and said, 'You have thirty minutes. Start-now!'

John looked down at his paper and read:

_1\. What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favourite colour?_

_2\. What is Gilderoy Lockhart's secret ambition?_

_3\. What, in your opinion, is Gilderoy Lockhart's greatest achievement to date?_

On and on it went , over three sides of paper, right down to:

_54\. When is Gilderoy Lockhart's birthday, and what would his ideal gift be?_

'This is ridiculous,' John said loudly. The whole class turned to look at him.

'Excuse me?' Lockhart said, clearly struggling to maintain his bright smile.

'What has any of this got to do with Defence Against the Dark Arts. Knowing what hair care products you use isn't going to help us if we're facing a werewolf or something.'

'Hmm, you don't happen to know Sherlock Holmes, do you?'

A stab of pain spiked through John's head at the mention of Sherlock, and Lockhart's robes were starting to look as if they might glow in the dark.

'Actually, yes, I do, and this 'quiz' is irrelevant and redundant and I'm not doing it. And you know something else? Those robes, I'm sorry to say, are an absolute atrocity, so  _please_ , never wear them in public ever again.'

A few people in the room gasped, including Hermione.

'If you're not going to take the quiz, then you can leave my lesson,' Lockhart said in a shaky attempt at discipline.

'Fine by me,' said John, already gathering up his books. He walked calmly from the room and shut the door.

'That was weird,' Ron muttered.

John wandered up to Gryffindor tower to dump his books and took his sweet time about it. His headache didn't get any worse, but it didn't get better and continued to pound painfully. After a while, he began to regret what he had said to Lockhart, purely because he wasn't in a lesson and was now terribly bored. He let his feet take him where they would and found himself watching the gems flying up and down in the hourglasses representing the four houses. He soon left them and roamed the corridors for what felt like an age, stopping briefly outside the Transfiguration classroom that he knew Sherlock to be in. Eventually, he felt it time to return to the lesson and wait outside. He got there just as the bell rang and was almost bowled over by almost the entire class shoving themselves frantically through the door, including Lockhart himself.

'What the-'

John slipped into the room and was immediately accosted by several flying; electric blue blurs that pulled on his hair, ears and robes. As he tried to bat them away with his hands, he saw that Harry, Ron and Hermione were battling against them too, amidst the wreckage that used to be the classroom, and a moaning Neville lying on the ground beside the candelabra that had broken free.

'What the  _hell_ is going on?' came Sherlock's voice from the doorway. John's headache suddenly seemed to loosen its grip on him, and then it melted away completely.

'Looks like pixies,' he heard Castiel say. They dashed in and started grabbing at the little blue things.

'Can you  _believe_ him?' Ron shouted. 'Lockhart released a bunch of Cornish pixies and just ran away.'

'He just wanted to give us some hands-on experience,' said Hermione, hitting two pixies at once with an Immobilising Charm and stuffing them back in their cage.

'I'm sure he meant no harm,' Castiel said, imitating Hermione's Charm.

'You weren't there, Castiel, he didn't have a clue what he was doing,' Harry complained.

'Rubbish,' Hermione snapped. 'You've read his books- look at all those amazing things he's done…'

'He  _says_ he's done,' Ron muttered.

'You know, Ron, you might just be on to something, there,' said Sherlock.

It took a while, but at last, all the pixies had been shut back in their cage and covered back over. They spent the walk to dinner explaining to Sherlock and Castiel what had happened in the lesson. Hermione was particularly proud of the full marks she had gotten in the quiz.

'…and Professor Lockhart said that there was only one other person that had gotten full marks,' she grinned.

'I know,' Castiel smiled shyly. 'I was the other one.'

They giggled quietly together. Sherlock rolled his eyes from behind his hair and turned to John.

'I can't believe you said those things to Lockhart.'

'No, neither can I,' John frowned. 'I don't know what came over me.'

Sherlock shook his head and they sat down at the long table, where Ron instantly helped himself to whatever happened to be closest.

'There's just something that isn't quite right about out new Professor,' said Sherlock.

'What's that supposed to mean?' Hermione asked sharply.

'It means that he isn't what he says he is, and if that's the case, then I plan to find out exactly what he's up to. I for one don't plan on being taught by a fraud.'

'He is not a fraud!'

'Believe what you will, Hermione, but I will prove that he's a huge fake,' Sherlock stated, rising from his seat. He stalked from the hall without eating to begin his pursuit of Lockhart's true identity.

 


	4. Mudbloods and Murmurs

Mudbloods and Murmurs 

Friday came at last and John sat quietly in Charms watching feathers flying around the room. They were recapping what they'd learnt last year. Professor Flitwick considered it of the utmost importance that they remembered how to cast the Hover Charm and had everyone practice it. Sherlock had already grown bored and was making sparks dance around his feather, challenging himself to not set it on fire. The practical part of the lesson was put to an end, however, when Ron's malfunctioning wand shot out of his hand and hit Professor Flitwick right between the eyes, creating a large, throbbing green boil where it had struck.

Harry had been spending a lot of time avoiding Gilderoy Lockhart, who popped up in the strangest of places- and he wasn't the only one. Colin Creevey seemed to have memorised Harry's timetable, and nothing gave him a bigger thrill than to say, 'All right, Harry?' five or six times a day, and hear, 'Hullo, Colin' back. At least Castiel's healing lessons had started again, so they had an excuse to hide in the hospital wing.

Harry was planning on taking everyone to see Hagrid on Saturday morning, but he was shaken awake several hours earlier than he would have liked. It was Oliver Wood, captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team.

'Whassgoinon?' Harry said groggily

'Quidditch practice,' said Wood. 'Come on!'

Harry squinted out of the window at the dusky pink line on the horizon.

'Oliver, it's the crack of dawn,' Harry croaked.

'Exactly!'

A mad determination had entered his eyes.

'It's part of our new training programme. I've been working on it all summer,' he said forcefully. 'Now, grab your broom and let's go! None of the other teams have started training yet, so we're going to be first off the mark.'

Harry groaned and tumbled out of bed to try and find his Quidditch robes.

'Good man,' said Wood. 'I'll meet you on the pitch in fifteen minutes.'

He clapped Harry on the shoulder and left the dormitory.

Harry scrubbed the sleep from his eyes and once he'd found his scarlet Quidditch robes, he threw his cloak over his shoulders for warmth. He scribbled a note to Ron explaining where he'd gone and descended the stairs to the common room, his Nimbus Two Thousand on his shoulder. He had almost reached the portrait hole when it opened in front of him and John tumbled in. His eyes were half closed and his pajamas were torn in some places. There was a clatter from behind him and Colin Creevey came dashing down the stairs behind him.

'Hiya, Harry!' he exclaimed excitedly.

'Hullo, Colin,' Harry said. John swayed gently on the spot.

'John, are you all right?' Harry asked. Colin waved a hand in front of John's face.

'I think he's sleepwalking,' Colin said. 'My little brother sleepwalks. This one time he got into the fridge and starting eating this massive-'

'That's great, Colin,' Harry interrupted. He grabbed hold of John and shook him lightly by the shoulder.

'I don't think you should do that, Harry. You 're not supposed to wake sleepwalkers.'

But Harry ignored him.

'John, wake up,' he said loudly. John twitched but remained asleep.

'Here, try this,' said Colin. He grabbed a jug of water and threw it all over John. John's eyes snapped open and he looked around wildly.

' _Colin!'_ Harry exclaimed. 'What happened to 'you shouldn't wake them up'?'

'What's going on?' John gasped, lurching to the side and bumping sharply into the sofa. 'Where am I? Why- why am I wet?'

He wiped his eyes.

'You were sleepwalking,' said Colin. 'I woke you up with a jug of water.'

John shook his head in confusion, struggling to understand the situation.

'Am I- in the common room?'

'Yeah, you are,' said Harry. He guided John and sat him down on the sofa. 'Listen, John, I have to go, but Ron and Hermione will be up soon.'

'Where are you going?'

'Just Quidditch practice.'

'Can I come?'

Harry hesitated.

'I think you should probably get dressed first,' he smiled.

'Oh. Ok I'll see you later.'

Harry climbed through the portrait hole, closely followed by Colin.

'Wait for me! I've never watched a Quidditch game before!'

John watched them go and could hear Colin asking several more questions as they walked down the corridor.

A spot of dirt on the back of his hand caught his eye and he rubbed it, vaguely wondering how it had got there. As his mind cleared he saw other little anomalies that hadn't been there the night before. A rip on the cuff of his sleeve, dark smudges on his knees- even a small twig in his hair. He climbed the stairs to the dormitory and slowly got dressed. Questions began to buzz around in his head. How had he managed to cause so much damage to his pajamas in his sleep? Where had he been? How often had he taken night-time strolls and not remembered any of it? He could answer none of these questions, however, so decided to wake Ron.

Ron grumbled irritable, but brightened up when he saw he still had a Chocolate Frog on his bedside table. Hermione was waiting for them in the common room by the time John had managed to drag Ron downstairs.

'Morning,' John said.

Ron merely stuffed the frog whole into his mouth by way of greeting.

'Harry not up yet?' Hermione asked.

'He's just gone to Quidditch practice.'

'This early?'

John shrugged. Ron finished chewing on his frog and fished the card out of the wrappings.

'Hey, this one's new,' he informed them. 'Yeah, look at this-'

He turned the card towards them. It showed a grim-looking man with dark hair and a scarred leather jacket.

_John Winchester, currently and Auror for the Magical Congress of the United States of America._

_Considered to be one of the best Aurors of his generation, John_ _Winchester_

_is particularly famous for his defeat of the dark wizard_

_Azazel in 1991, and for his invention of the first magical firearms._

_John Winchester has two sons and is still tracking down all of_

_Azazel's affiliates and allies._

'He sounds interesting,' said Hermione.

'I dunno,' John frowned. 'Muggle firearms aren't particularly fun at the best of times.'

'He can't be that good. I've ever even heard of Azazel, so he can't have been too tough to beat,' said Ron, tucking the card into his cloak. Hermione rolled her eyes.

'Honsetly, Ron, don't you pay attention to the news?'

'No.'

'I don't know who he is either,' said John. They crossed the room and exited through the portrait hole.

'Well, obviously, he's a dark wizard, like it says on the card. Mostly he was a threat to the United States, so our Ministry didn't get involved,' Hermione explained.

'So how come he was so bad?' John asked. Hermione pursed her lips in disgust.

'He believed that the gates of Hell would one day be opened and the Devil would be released into the world, so he kidnapped children as soon as they started to show signs of being magical and raised them to be part of his army.'

Sherlock and Castiel emerged from behind a painting of a silver swan, Castiel clutching  _Wanderings with Werewolves_ in one hand.

'Who are you talking about?' Sherlock asked as they reached them.

'Azazel,' said Hermione.

Castiel flinched at the sound of his name.

'Why?' Sherlock said. Ron pulled the card out of his cloak.

'He's been defeated, apparently. By this man called John Winchester.'

He handed Sherlock the card, which he studied carefully.

'So where's Azazel now?'

'He's dead,' Castiel said stiffly. He walked off down the stairs and everyone followed after him.

'What's the matter?' Sherlock asked John as they were walking.

'What do you mean?' said John, surprised.

'You look tired, and you have a specific facial expression when you're troubled. And you have a- leaf in your hair.'

Sherlock reached out and brushed the foliage away. 'Sleepwalking?'

'Yeah… We're going to Quidditch practice, want to come?'

'I'm in the middle of an investigation.'

'Lockhart can wait, Sherlock, come on.'

Sherlock reluctantly agreed to accompany them on the condition that afterwards, John help him sort through newspapers in the library.

It was a chilly day outside and John wrapped his cloak tightly around himself. They walked out onto the pitch, expecting to see crimson blurs in the air, but instead saw the entire Gryffindor team on the ground, Captain Wood glaring furiously at the opposing team of green and silver. Amidst the Slytherin team, a blond head shone in the sun that was unmistakeably Draco Malfoy's.

'What's going on?' Ron asked them. 'What's  _he_ doing here?'

He poked a finger at Malfoy dressed in Slytherin robes.

'I'm the new Seeker, Weasley,' Malfoy said.

Sherlock snorted, imagining Malfoy flailing around in the air.

'Think it's funny do you, Holmes? I'd like to see you do better- oh wait, you can't. You're scared of heights, aren't you?' Malfoy sneered. John opened his mouth to protest but Sherlock beat him to it.

'Don't think your family name makes you superior to me. My family are wealthier and more influential by far. Though we choose to deal in knowledge rather than currency, it doesn't mean we can't,' he said coldly. Malfoy narrowed his eyes and turned his attention back to Ron, knowing he was beat when it came to Sherlock.

'We were just admiring Father's gift, Weasley. Do you like them?'

He shoved the handle of his shiny new broom in Ron's face. Ron's mouth dropped open and even John, who knew nothing about brooms, could tell they were good.

'Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones!' Ron gasped.

'Good, aren't they?' Malfoy continued. 'But I suppose the Gryffindor team will be able to raise some gold to get new brooms too. You could raffle off those Cleansweep Fives, I expect a museum would bid for them.'

The Slytherins howled with laughter.

'At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in,' Hermione said sharply. ' _They_ got in on pure talent.'

The smug look on Malfoy's face flickered.

'No one asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood,' he spat.

John was buffeted backwards by the force of the outrage that burst from the Gryffindors, and winced as Castiel dropped his book on his foot. Marcus Flint, captain of the Slytherin team, had to push Malfoy behind him to protect him from the abuse that was being hurled at him. John had never seen Sherlock so angry- his bunched up fists were shaking with rage. Ron whipped out his wand.

'You'll pay for that one, Malfoy,' Ron yelled. He pointed his wand under Flint's arm at Malfoy's face.

A loud bang echoed across the stadium, a jet of green light burst from the wrong end of Ron's wand and hit him in the stomach, sending him flying across the grass. He hit the ground with a thump and they ran over to him. Castiel and Hermione were the first to reach him.

'Ron! Ron, are you all right?' Hermione squeaked. The Slytherins were now all breathless laughter and when Ron coughed up several, live slugs, they had to cling to their brooms for support. The Gryffindors clustered around him, watching him belch slugs all over himself. No one seemed willing to touch him, except Castiel, who hauled Ron to his feet with a strength surprising for his size.

'Help me get him to Hagrid's, it's closest,' he grunted. Harry quickly took some of Ron's weight to help Castiel support him.

'What happened, Harry? What happened? Is he ill? But you can cure him, can't you?' Colin had run down from his seat in the stands and was now dancing alongside them as they left the pitch. Ron gave a huge heave and more slugs dribbled down his front.

'Oooh,' said Colin, fascinated and raising his camera. 'Can you hold him still, Harry?'

'Get out of the way, Colin!' said Harry angrily. He and Castiel helped Ron out of the stadium.

Despite Castiel's initial strength, he tired quickly from half-dragging Ron across the grounds and had to transfer his support to John half way there. Hermione followed closely behind them and Sherlock brought up the rear from a ways behind.

'Nearly there, Ron,' Hermione said encouragingly as Hagrid's cabin came into view. 'You'll be all right in a minute… almost there…'

About twenty feet from the hut they saw the front door open, but instead of Hagrid, it was Gilderoy Lockhart who emerged. John made a small noise of disgust at the mauve robes he was wearing, but didn't have a chance to comment on it as Harry dragged them behind a nearby bush. Sherlock and Hermione darted behind it as well, but Castiel was too slow.

'It's a simple matter if you know what you're doing!' Lockhart was saying loudly to Hagrid. 'If you need help, you know where I am! I'll let you have a copy of my book- I'm surprised you haven't already got one. I'll sign one tonight and send it over. Well, goodbye!'

He turned away from the cabin and saw Castiel standing in his path.

'Ah, Castiel!' he grinned. 'One of my favourite students! Though, strictly speaking I'm not supposed to have favourites, so let's just keep that between us.'

He winked and John rolled his eyes.

'Go away,' he muttered and was quickly silenced by a jab in the ribs from Hermione. Lockhart kept talking, seemingly oblivious to the look of awe and fear paralysed on Castiel's face.

'So, what are you down here, looking for me?'

Castiel stuttered incoherently.

'Just visiting Hagrid? Well then , enjoy your afternoon.'

He strode back up to the castle, leaving Castiel standing dazed.

They waited until Lockhart was out of sight, then pulled Ron out of the bush and up to Hagrid's front door. Hagrid appeared at once when they knocked, he looked grumpy but his face brightened when he saw who it was.

'Bin wonderin' when you'd come ter see me- come in, come in- thought yeh mighta bin Professor Lockhart back again.'

Harry and John supported Ron over the threshold, into the one-roomed cabin. Hagrid didn't seem perturbed by Ron's slug problem, which Harry hastily explained as he lowered Ron into a chair.

'Better out than in,' Hagrid said cheerfully, plonking a large copper basin in front of Ron. 'Get 'em all up, Ron.'

'I don't think there's anything to do but wait for it to stop,' said Castiel, waving his wand anxiously over Ron.

'It's a difficult curse to work at the best of times,' said Hermione, 'but with a broken wand…'

Hagrid bustled around making them tea. His boarhound, Fang, was slobbering all over Harry and John kept glancing out of the window at the Forest.

'What did Lockhart want with you, Hagrid?' Harry asked.

'Givin' me advice on gettin' kelpies out of a well,' growled Hagrid, moving a half-plucked rooster off his table and setting down the teapot. 'Like I don't know. An' bangin' on about some Banshee he banished. If one word of it was true, I'll eat my kettle.'

Sherlock sniggered and Castiel shot a frown at him. Hermione said in a voice somewhat higher than usual, 'I think you're being a bit unfair. Professor Dumbledore obviously thought he was the best man for the job-'

'He was the  _on'y_ man for the job,' said Hagrid, offering them a plate of treacle fudge, while Ron coughed squelchily into the basin. 'An' I mean the  _on'y_ one. Gettin' very difficult ter find anyone fer the Dark Arts job, People aren't too keen ter take it on, see. They're startin' ter think it's jinxed. No one's lasted long fer a while now. So tell me,' said Hagrid, jerking his head at Ron, 'who was he tryin' ter curse?'

'Malfoy,' Harry told him. 'He called Hermione something. It must have been really bad, because everyone went mad.'

'It  _was_ bad,' Ron said hoarsely, emerging over the table top, looking pale and sweaty. 'Malfoy called her "Mudblood", Hagrid-'

He dived out of sight again as a fresh wave of slugs made an appearance. Hagrid looked outraged.

'He didn't!' he growled at Hermione.

'He did,' she said, 'But I don't know what it means. I could tell it was really rude, of course…'

'It's about the most insulting thing he could think of,' Sherlock said through a clenched jaw. 'Mudblood's a really foul name for someone who was Muggle-born- someone with non-magic parents. There are some wizards- like the Malfoys- who think they're better than everyone else because they're what people call pure-blood. It's not a term one normally hears in civilised conversation. Of course it doesn't make a difference, for instance, Neville Longbottom is a pure-blood, yet he can barely stand a cauldron the right way up.'

'Oh,' John said softly, feeling rather unsettled.

'It's a disgusting thing to call someone,' said Ron, wiping his sweaty brow with a shaking hand. 'Dirty blood, see. Common blood. It's mad. Most wizards these days are half-blood anyway. If we hadn't married Muggles, we'd've died out.'

'A good thing I cursed Malfoy when he wasn't looking, then,' Sherlock said breezily.

'Good,' Castiel said sharply, surprising them for the second time that day, for they had never heard him condone violence before.

'I seem to have left my book on the pitch, please excuse me,' Castiel said, quietly getting up and briskly walking out.

'Does something seem off about him today?' John asked Sherlock.

'Yes. He's been like this all morning,' Sherlock replied.

'Well, I don't blame yeh fer cursin' him, Sherlock, but I 'spect it won't be long 'til Lucius Malfoy comes marchin' up ter the school. Yer goin' ter get inter trouble,' Hagrid worried. Sherlock uttered a short, derisive laugh.

'He wouldn't dare. I hate to play the family card but mine could destroy him before he reached the school gates- figuratively speaking, of course. Speaking of which, Harry, when we return to the castle, may I borrow Hedwig?'

'Yeah, of course. What for?'

'I need to get a message to Mycroft.'

'Harry,' said Hagrid suddenly, as though struck by a sudden thought, 'gotta bone ter pick with yeh. I've heard yeh've bin givin' out signed photos. How come I haven't got one?'

'I have  _not_ been giving out signed photos,' he said hotly. 'If Lockhart's still putting that about-'

But then he saw that Hagrid was laughing.

'I'm on'y jokin',' he sat, patting Harry on the back. Harry pushed Sherlock, who was also laughing, out of his seat to blow off steam.

'I knew yeh hadn't, really,' Hagrid continued. 'I told Lockhart that yeh didn't need ter. Yer more famous than him without tryin'.'

'Bet he didn't like that,' said Harry. Sherlock remained on the floor trying to calm himself down.

'Don' think he did,' said Hagrid. 'An' then I told him I'd never read one o' his books an' he decided ter go. Treacle toffee, Ron?' he added as Ron reappeared.

'No thanks,' Ron said weakly. 'Better not risk it.'

'Come an' see what I've been growin',' said Hagrid once they'd finished their tea.

In a small vegetable patch behind Hagrid's house were a dozen of the largest pumpkins they'd ever seen. Each was the size of a large boulder. John looked over at the Forest and nudged Sherlock.

'Do you think I could have gone in there?' he asked. Sherlock looked from the castle to the Forest.

'No,' he said shortly.

'Well then, where do you think I went?'

'No idea,' Sherlock said, hastily moving away to examine Hagrid's huge pumpkins. John frowned, knowing that Sherlock was avoiding the question, but also knowing that Sherlock wouldn't tell him unless he wanted to.

'For Hallowe'en, I suppose?' Sherlock said, lightly putting a hand against one of the pumpkins.

It was almost lunchtime, and they were eager to get something to eat, so they bid Hagrid goodbye and walked back to the castle.

'What about Castiel?' John asked.

'I'm sure he'll find us. Besides, I have a feeling that we'll be the ones that have to find him,' Sherlock said. 'He's not himself today.'

They had barely set foot in the Entrance Hall when a voice rang out, 'There you are, Potter, Weasley.' Professor McGonagall was walking towards them, looking stern. 'You will both do your detentions this evening.'

'What are we doing, Professor?' Ron asked nervously.

'You will be polishing the silver in the trophy room with Mr Filch,' said Professor McGonagall. 'And no magic, Weasley- elbow grease.'

Ron gulped. Argus Filch was loathed by all students and the feeling was mutual.

'And you, Potter, will be helping Professor Lockhart answer his fan mail,' said Professor McGonagall

'Oh no- can't I do the trophy room , too?' Harry asked desperately.

'Certainly not. Professor Lockhart requested you particularly. Eight o' clock sharp, both of you.'

Sherlock went up to the Owlery, allowing John a brief lunch before calling to him from the door of the Great Hall.

'John?' he said, jerking his head in the direction of the library. John groaned loudly and dramatically, pushing himself up from the table.

'You realise I'm not going to be much help, right?'

'Nonsense, John. You'd make an excellent bookstand.'

Saturday afternoon passed in a blur of old newspapers and paper cuts. John wasn't entirely sure what they were looking for and ended up holding papers for Sherlock, just as he'd anticipated. If Sherlock had found anything of use, he never said.

'Right, that's enough,' John said at last. It was now dark and he was fairly certain that they'd missed dinner. Sherlock looked up and pursed his lips, but didn't argue. John followed Sherlock out of the library, but instead of going up to the dormitories, he aimed for the hospital wing.

'I think we ought to check on Castiel,' Sherlock said, answering John's unspoken question.

'What makes you think he'll be there?'

'He'll be there.'

And so he was. He was sitting on one of the beds, staring at the ceiling. Madam Pomfrey saw them enter and looked about to protest, but then her gaze flicked to Castiel and she let them pass unimpeded. Without a word they went over to him. John sat on a chair beside the bed and Sherlock lay across the end of it. Castiel made no move to acknowledge their presence and, for a while, sat in silence.

'John, tell me about your family,' Sherlock murmured. John looked at him in surprise.

'Not much to tell, I mean, they're Muggles- which you already know. Mum owns a florist and Harriet works in the kitchen in the local pub. You know, she's still not happy about me being a wizard. It's not like I asked for it.'

'And your father?'

John's knuckles tightened involuntarily and Sherlock knew he was treading on dangerous ground, but he was hoping to illicit a response in Castiel. That, and he was more than a little curious.

'You already know,' John said.

'I know some.'

John paused for a moment, then released a long breath.

'He was a good man before… I knew that he loved us but being in the army was something he felt he had to do. I also knew that every time he came back a little piece of him had faded away. Towards the end he was more like a shadow of who he was… But then he left us. It was stupid and selfish…'

Sherlock said nothing, knowing not to push it.

'And what about you?' John asked Sherlock after a minute.

'Well, you already know Mycroft, unfortunately. Mummy writes theories and translations for Arithmancy and Ancient Runes, when she's not supporting Father by meeting with his associates. Father deals mostly with the collection of knowledge about the magical world and spends most of his time travelling, though he owns several apothecaries across the country,' Sherlock told him.

'You really could not sound less enthusiastic,' John commented. Sherlock shrugged

'Their activities don't interest me, nor do mine interest them.'

Castiel had not moved but they could tell he was listening

'Castiel? What's your family like?' Sherlock chanced. He stiffened, but looked down from the ceiling.

'I live with my father and Gabriel. As you know, Lucy has left. We also have an older brother named Michael. He left a few years ago.'

Sherlock grimaced, feeling he was onto something. He hesitated, then, 'What about your mother?'

Castiel fixed him with a piercing stare, but his eyes were devoid of the timid spark that was normally there.

'My mother died a long time ago.'

His voice had taken on a monotonous tone.

'Seven years ago today, in fact.'

Sherlock heard John mutter a small 'oh' and Castiel continued to stare at him emotionlessly, daring him to ask his next question.

'…What happened?'

Castiel abruptly jumped up off the bed and turned his back. He stood poker straight.

'I'd rather not talk about it.'

With that, he left the room. John watched him sadly.

'I think that's the most I've ever heard him talk- ever,' he said hollowly. 'Anyway, I think we should go to bed. I'm tired and I want to hear how Harry's detention went. Should be good for a few laughs.'

He got up and stretched.

'You coming?'

'You go- I have something I need to do.'

John raised his eyebrows but didn't comment- he knew he'd find out in the morning. He went straight up to Gryffindor tower and met Ron on the way, who was nursing his right arm and smelled strongly of polish.

'My cramps have cramps,' he groaned. 'Made me buff that Quidditch Cup fourteen times before he was happy. Then I had a slug attack all over a Special Award for Services to the School. Took ages to shift the slime…'

Up in the dormitory, Harry was waiting for them and told them about his detention in a low voice, so as not to wake Seamus, Dean and Neville.

'So I was just sat there and then I heard this voice, right and it- and it said it wanted to kill. But there was no one else in the room and Lockhart didn't hear a word of it,' he said.

'D'you think he was lying? But I don't get it- even someone invisible would've had to open the door,' Ron frowned.

'I know. I don't get it either.'

'Could have been a ghost,' John suggested. 'Maybe Peeves was messing with you.'

'Yeah but Lockhart would have heard it too.'

'Maybe Lockhart was messing with you.'

'Somehow I don't think he has the brain capacity to handle that.'

'Good point.'

John lay back and in the time it took for him to fall asleep, he couldn't stop imagining what the voice would have sounded like.


	5. The Deathday Party

The Deathday Party

‘Castiel, wake up!’

Castiel bolted upright and found himself face to face with Sherlock’s tousled bed-hair. He was already dressed, but he’d forgotten to put on his tie. The sun had already risen, but it was still early and the rest of the dormitory was still asleep. Good thing it was Saturday.

‘Hurry up and get dressed, we’re going out,’ Sherlock said quietly. Castiel collected his clothes and pulled the blue silk curtains around the bed to get dressed in privacy. Sherlock waited patiently until Castiel re-emerged rolling up the sleeves of his trench coat

‘Where are going?’ Castiel asked as they exited Ravenclaw tower.

‘We’re going to the Forest. There’s a certain centaur herd I’d like to speak to.’

Castiel rubbed his arm nervously.

‘Why do you need me?’

Sherlock shrugged, lightly brushing a hand along the bannister as they descended the stairs.

‘It’s always good to have company.’

Castiel mentally prepared himself for the Forest, though something on his face seemed to give away his doubt. Sherlock stopped him in the entrance hall.

‘You don’t have to come if you don’t want to,’ he said seriously. From what Castiel could tell, he looked sincere.

‘But if you do decide to come, you will be perfectly safe with me.’

Castiel considered him for a moment, uneasily thinking on Sherlock’s request. On one hand, the Forest was incredibly dangerous and it scared Castiel to no end, but on the other, Sherlock said that he would be safe, and he didn’t want to disappoint his friend.

‘I’ll come,’ he said eventually. Sherlock seemed to decide he was ready this time and set off again.

It was quite chilly outside and the ground was damp with dew. The hem of Castiel’s coat was soaked within minutes. They slipped quietly past Hagrid’s hut, with loud snores emanating from within, and soon found themselves enclosed within the trees of the Forbidden Forest. Sherlock wandered through them aimlessly, listening intently. Castiel heard only the whisper of the wind in the branches above and the soft snapping of Sherlock’s feet on the ground. His ears must have been sharper than Castiel’s, or at least known what he was listening for, as his steps became more assured and took a more definite direction. The Forest stirred and suddenly the sound of hooves pounded around them.

Though Castiel had seen them before, it did not make them any less frightening. Once again they were surrounded by centaurs. The red-haired centaur they knew as Ronan stepped forward. Castiel also recognised Magorian- who looked slightly less furious than last time- and Firenze.

‘Welcome, Observant One,’ Ronan said. ‘And to what do we owe this honour?’

Sherlock looked Ronan straight in the face but Ronan smiled before he said anything.

‘Ah, it has already begun. I see it in the way you hold yourself.’

Sherlock cocked his head.

‘What do you mean?’

‘The connection between you and the Oracle. You have felt it stirring inside you, have you not?’

‘I have,’ Sherlock admitted. ‘Though I don’t think John has.’

Castiel frowned at him.

‘You never mentioned it,’ he said. The centaurs suddenly turned to look at him, noticing him for the first time.

‘He’s with me,’ Sherlock said hurriedly. Magorian and a few others eyed him with distaste, but Firenze approached him and placed a hand gently on his shoulder. He looked unflinchingly into his eyes with a slight air of curiosity.

‘I see much sorrow in you, small one, but do not despair. A light will soon enter in your life and lift the darkness away,’ he said softly. He returned to the bulk of the herd and turned his gaze back towards Sherlock as if he’d never said anything.

‘I need to know more about this,’ Sherlock said. ‘Why do we have this connection? Why us? What exactly is it?’

‘You have many questions, and rightly so, but you must wait until we can explain it to both you and the Oracle,’ Ronan said patiently.

‘How long do I have to wait? When can I tell him?’

Ronan shifted slightly on his hooves.

‘You must understand, we have waited for this for many generations, but we do not hold all the answers. Just know this- you alone will know when it is time to tell John the truth. You must trust us. It won’t be long now.’

Sherlock sighed.

‘Fine. I’ll wait. Let’s go,’ he said to Castiel. He stalked away from the centaurs and up to the castle.

 

Sherlock stabbed at his breakfast moodily.

‘You don’t need to take it out on the eggs, you know,’ John said in amusement. He had found Sherlock and Castiel in the Great Hall, Sherlock looking annoyed. He refused to say why he was in such a bad mood. Sherlock grunted and started shredding a slice of toast. His mood picked up, however, when the post arrived, and was practically ecstatic when twenty long packages were flown around the room.

‘Ah, Harry, just in time,’ he said as Harry, Ron and Hermione sat down with them.

‘What on earth?’ Hermione said, watching the packages, six of which landed at the Gryffindor table. The two nearest them were dropped in front of Fred and George Weasley.

‘Watch,’ Sherlock said quietly. Fred and George ripped the packages open eagerly and exclaimed in delight at the sleek new brooms that lay on the table. Fred picked up the note that came with it and read it aloud.

“ _Dear Mr Fred Weasley,_

_It has recently come to my attention that the Slytherin House Quidditch team recently received an unfair advantage in the form of seven new Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones. I thought it only appropriate to present you- and every team member of Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw- with your own Nimbus Two Thousand and One in order to even out the playing field, so to speak. I hope you put them to good use._

_Luck and regards, Mycroft Holmes.”_

They all gaped at Sherlock, who grinned triumphantly. A letter then fluttered down in front of Harry, who had not received a new Nimbus.

_Dear, Harry,_

_I have been informed that you are quite attached to your current Nimbus model, so I have not given you a new one. However, a Nimbus Two Thousand and One will be stored in the Gryffindor broom shed should you or any of your teammates have need of it._

_Mycroft Holmes._

Harry handed the letter to Ron, who looked as if he might swoon.

‘Was this your doing?’ he asked Sherlock.

‘Perhaps. Perhaps not,’ he said slyly. It was then that Oliver Wood appeared behind Harry, flushed and holding onto his broom like it was a new-born baby.

‘Quidditch practice. Now,’ he said before dashing out of the hall. Everyone who had gotten a broom soon left too, whether for practice or to put them away.

‘So, are you expecting to get in on the Ravenclaw team now?’ John joked. Sherlock shook his head and people began to file out, eager to see the new brooms in action. Draco Malfoy got up and stormed out, shooting Sherlock a look of pure evil on his way out. Ron was out of the door almost before Harry was, and Hermione decided she was curious too, leaving once the crowd had thinned a little.

‘Not going?’ Sherlock asked John and Castiel.

‘I’d rather wait and see them in a match,’ John said. They didn’t remain in the hall for much longer, and decided to sit in the deserted courtyard. They sat together in a corner and Castiel closed his eyes, falling into a doze. John looked up at the grey sky, grateful that it wasn’t raining, though he could tell it would soon. He noticed a chilly wind in the air and pulled his cloak around him to stop it getting in. Hearing Sherlock groan, he looked up and echoed it. Anderson and Donovan were walking towards them. Castiel cracked his eyes open slightly to watch what happened.

‘So the new Defence teacher isn’t a witch,’ Anderson said when he reached them.

‘Which you would have known if you were paying any attention whatsoever,’ Sherlock commented scathingly. ‘Or read any of his work. He’s far too conceited to allow anyone but himself to teach his books. Now, if you don’t mind, please leave. Your face is annoying me.’

‘My _face_ is?’

Donovan roughly pulled on Anderson’s shoulder.

‘Come on, just leave it. Why do you even bother with him?’

‘Yes, Anderson, why do you?’

Anderson shook his head and walked away again.

‘Don’t worry about him,’ John said as soon as they were out of earshot.

‘I’m not worried.’

Castiel, who had nodded off completely, groaned in his sleep and woke up with a start. John then noticed the faint shadows under his eyes.

‘What have you been doing, you look exhausted.’

‘Couldn’t sleep, so we went out for a walk,’ Sherlock grunted.

Couldn’t sleep? Really?’ John said doubtfully as Castiel’s eyelids began to droop again. ‘Go back to bed- no, don’t argue with me, just do it.’

Castiel needed no telling twice, but John had to push Sherlock out of the courtyard.

 

October arrived in a swirl of wind and driving rain, forcing everyone but the Quidditch teams inside. A spate of colds among the staff and students kept Madam Pomfrey busy. Her Pepperup Potion worked instantly, though she needed a lot of it to keep up with the influx of runny noses. Her efforts to teach Castiel to make it hadn’t been entirely successful. Though he had gotten it to work, he had left Ginny Weasley smoking at the ears for several hours. He turned up at Quidditch practice one stormy Saturday, after Madam Pomfrey forced him to take a break from brewing potions all day.

Though Wood had convinced Harry to try the Two Thousand and One, Mycroft was right. He did prefer to use his own Two Thousand model. Wood didn’t seem worried, convinced as he was that Harry could easily outmanoeuvre the other Seekers.

Castiel sat in the stands, paying no heed to the rain that had soaked him to the skin. The training session didn’t last long due to low visibility and Wood not wanting to lose any of the balls. So Castiel accompanied Harry, dripping mud and water, back to the castle.

As they squelched along the corridor they came across Nearly Headless Nick, the ghost of Gryffindor tower, who looked preoccupied and was staring morosely out of the window.

‘Hello, Nick, Harry said.

‘Hello, hello,’ said Nick, looking around at them.

‘What’s wrong?’ Harry asked. Nick sighed dramatically, his head wobbling precariously on his neck.

‘It’s nothing of consequence,’ he said. ‘It’s not as if I really wanted to join… Thought I’d apply, but apparently I don’t fulfil requirements.’

Harry exchanged a confused glance with Castiel.

‘But you would think,’ he said suddenly, pulling a transparent letter out of his pocket, ‘that getting hit forty-five times in the neck with a blunt axe would qualify you to join the Headless Hunt.’

‘Er.’

‘I mean, nobody wishes more than I do that it had all been quick and clean, and my head had come off properly. It would have saved me a great deal of pain and ridicule. However-‘ Nick shook his letter open and read furiously:

‘” _We can only accept huntsmen whose heads have parted company with their bodies. You will appreciate that it would be impossible, otherwise, for members to participate in hunt activities such as Horseback Head Juggling and Head Polo. It is with greatest regret, therefore, that I must inform you that you do not fulfil requirements. With very best wishes, Sir Patrick Delaney-Podmore_.”’

Fuming, Nearly Headless Nick stuffed the letter away.

‘Half an inch of skin and sinew holding my neck on, Harry! Most people would think that’s good and beheaded, but, oh, no, it’s not enough for Sir Properly Decapitated Podmore.’

Nick took a deep breath and noticed Castiel standing quietly beside Harry.

‘Oh, hello. I’ve seen you around, but I don’t believe we’ve met,’ he said in a much calmer tone.

‘I’m in Ravenclaw,’ Castiel mumbled.

‘So you are, so you are. Pardon me, but I didn’t catch your name.’

‘I’m, uh- I’m- I’m Ca-I -‘

‘He’s Castiel,’ Harry jumped in.

‘Quite. Well, it’s very nice t-‘

He was interrupted by a high pitched mewling from somewhere near his ankles. They looked down and gazed straight into a pair of lamp-like yellow eyes. It was Mrs Norris, Filch’s cat.

‘You two had better get out of here,’ Nick said quickly. ‘Filch isn’t in a good mood- he’s got flu and some third-years accidentally plastered frog brains all over the ceiling in dungeon five. He’s been cleaning all morning, and if he sees you dripping mud all over the place-‘

‘Got it. Let’s go,’ Harry said. They backed away from the accusing stare of Mrs Norris, but not quickly enough. Argus Filch burst through a tapestry to their right, wheezing and looking for the rule-breaker. There was a thick tartan scarf wrapped around his head.

‘Filth!’ he shouted, eyes popping wildly at the muddy puddle dripping from Harry and Castiel. ‘Mess and muck everywhere! I’ve had enough of it, I tell you! You two, follow me!’

Castiel rubbed his arm and followed Harry and Filch downstairs. He had never been in Filch’s office before and hoped to never be in it again. It was dingy and windowless, lit by a single oil lamp dangling from the ceiling, wooden filing cabinets stood around the room, containing details of every pupil Filch had ever punished. Fred and George Weasley had a whole drawer to themselves. A highly polished collection of chains and manacles hung on the wall behind Filch’s desk. Castiel’s heart almost stopped as he caught sight of them.

Filch grabbed a quill from a pot on his desk and began shuffling around looking for parchment.

‘Dung,’ he muttered furiously, ‘great sizzling dragon bogies…frog brains…rat intestines…I’ve had enough of it…got to make an _example_ …where’s the form…yes…’

He retrieved a large roll of parchment from his desk drawer and stretched it out in front of him, dipping his long black quill into the ink pot.

‘ _Name_ … Harry Potter. _Crime…’_

‘It was only a bit of mud!’

Castiel winced at Harry’s defiance.

‘It’s only a bit of mud to you, boy, but to me it’s an extra hour of scrubbing!’ shouted Filch. ‘ _Crime…_ befouling the castle. _Suggested sentence...’_

He squinted at Harry and then at Castiel.

‘You, what’s your name?’ he demanded. Castiel opened his mouth and there was a loud BANG! on the ceiling of the office.

‘PEEVES!’ Filch roared, flinging his quill down and making Castiel jump several inches off the ground. ‘I’ll have you this time, I’ll have you!’

Without a backward glance at the two boys, Filch ran from the office, Mrs Norris streaking alongside him. Harry sunk into a moth-eaten chair and looked at Castiel who was stood, stiffly staring at the manacles on the wall. He began to shiver from being so wet. Harry noticed how tense he was and attempted to comfort him.

‘Those are just for show. I’m pretty sure he’s not allowed to use them,’ he said, nodding at the chains. ‘It’s Filch, what’s the worst he can do?’

‘Mmm,’ Castiel said vaguely, not taking his eyes off them. Harry noticed a glossy purple envelope on the desk, picked it up, and flicked it open curiously.

‘I don’t think you should do that, Harry,’ Castiel murmured. ‘It’s private.’

But Harry, intrigued, pulled the sheaf of parchment out of the envelope.

‘”Kwikspell- A Correspondence Course in Beginners’ Magic”,’ Harry read out. Castiel twitched and looked nervously at the door. He shifted his weight from foot to foot in an attempt to warm himself up while Harry read the letter.

Eventually they heard shuffling footsteps outside that told them Filch was coming back. Harry hastily stuffed the parchment back into the envelope and threw it back onto the desk just as the door opened.

Filch was looking triumphant.

‘That Vanishing cabinet was extremely valuable!’ he was saying gleefully to Mrs Norris. ‘We’ll have Peeves out this time, my sweet-‘

His eyes fell on the Kwikspell envelope that was lying two feet away from its original position. His face turned brick red and he hobbled over to the desk to throw the envelope into a drawer.

‘Have you read-‘ he spluttered.

‘No,’ Harry lied quickly. Filch stammered something about it being for a friend.

‘Go- and don’t breathe a word- not that- however, if you didn’t read- go now, I have to write up Peeves’ report- go-‘

Breathing a sigh of relief, Harry and Castiel sped out of the office, up the corridor, and back upstairs.

‘Harry! Harry! Did it work?’

Nearly Headless Nick came gliding out of a classroom, the wreckage of a large black and gold cabinet visible behind him. It appeared to have been dropped from a great height.

‘I persuaded Peeves to crash it right over Filch’s office,’ Nick said eagerly. ‘Thought it might distract him-‘

‘That was you?’ Harry said gratefully. ‘Yeah it worked, we didn’t even get detention. Thanks, Nick!’

They set off up the corridor together and Harry noticed he was still holding his letter.

‘I wish there was something we could do about the Headless Hunt,’ Harry said.

Nick stopped in his tracks and Harry shuddered as he accidentally walked right through him.

‘But there _is_ something you can do for me,’ said Nick excitedly. ‘Would I be asking too much if- but no, you wouldn’t want-‘

‘What is it?’ said Harry.

‘Well, this Hallowe’en will be my five hundredth deathday,’ he said proudly.

‘Oh. Right,’ Harry said, not sure whether he should look sorry or not.

‘I’m holding a party down in one of the roomier dungeons. Friends will be coming from all over the country. It would be such an honour if you would attend. Your friends would be most welcome too, of course- but I daresay you’d rather go to the feast?’ he asked Harry on tenterhooks.

‘No, I’ll come,’ said Harry quickly, ‘and Castiel, too-‘

‘My dear boy! Harry Potter, at my deathday party! And-‘ he hesitated, looking excited, ‘-do you think you could possibly mention to Sir Patrick how very frightening and impressive you find me?’

‘Of- of course,’ Harry said, mystified.

Nick beamed and then glided off.

 

‘You told him we’d do _what?’_  Sherlock demanded once Harry had joined him, Ron, Hermione and John in the Gryffindor common room. Castiel had gone back to Ravenclaw tower to find a dry set of robes.

‘Come on, Sherlock, there aren’t many living people who can say they’ve been to a deathday party,’ Hermione said keenly.

‘Yes, and for good reason!’ Sherlock exclaimed in dismay.

‘Why would you want to celebrate the day you died, anyway?’ Ron said, grumpily trying to finish his Potions essay. ‘Sounds dead depressing to me.’

‘I’ll come,’ John said, without looking up from his own essay. Sherlock looked at him and sighed resignedly.

‘As will I,’ he said. John shot Harry a quick wink in response.

Fred and George were sat at a table, surrounded by a knot of curious people. They were attempting to see what would happen if you fed a Filibuster firework to a salamander that Gabriel had given them in the name of ‘science’.

The salamander suddenly whizzed into the air, emitting loud bangs and sparks as it whirled around the room. They heard a terrified yell and turned to see Castiel dash back out of the open portrait hole.

Sherlock dragged his feet the entire way to the dungeon that Nearly Headless Nick was holding his party in. It grew colder with every step, and by the time they got there, he couldn’t control his shivering. It irritated him more than the being cold itself and was soon on the verge of snapping at anything. The music that was playing sounded like fingernails being dragged down a blackboard and drilled into John’s brain. He, too, found himself in a foul mood with a buzzing headache. Castiel, also, was pale and twitchy- in fact, the only one that seemed to be looking forward to the upcoming event, was Hermione. They found Nick standing at a doorway hung with black velvet drapes.

‘My dear friends,’ he said mournfully. ‘Welcome, welcome. So pleased you could come.’ He swept his plumed hat and bowed them inside. It was like stepping into a freezer, their breath rising before them like mist.

‘Shall we have a look around?’ Harry suggested.

‘Careful not to walk through anyone,’ Ron said nervously. They set off around the edge of the dance floor. John, whose headache was quickly gaining strength, noticed Sherlock’s shivering and took pity on his skinny form. He removed his cloak and wrapped it around Sherlock’s bony shoulders. Sherlock took it gratefully, but frowned when he saw how flushed John was looking.

‘Are you all right?’ he asked. These words kept coming out of his mouth more and more often and he didn’t like it.

‘Mmm. Headache. Ghosts apparently have terrible taste in music,’ John said, glancing at the Bloody Baron, who was being given a wide berth by the other ghosts.

‘Oh, no,’ Hermione said, stopping abruptly. ‘Turn back, turn back, I don’t want to talk to Moaning Myrtle-‘

‘Who?’ said Harry as they backtracked quickly.

‘She haunts one of the toilets in the girls’ bathroom on the first floor,’ Hermione said.

‘She haunts a _toilet?’_

_‘_ Yes. It’s been out of order all year because she keeps having tantrums and flooding the place. I never went in there anyway if I could avoid it; it’s awful trying to have a pee with her wailing at you-‘

‘Look, food!’ Ron exclaimed excitedly. They had skipped the Hallowe’en feast for the party and were all rather hungry.

On the other side of the dungeon was a long table, also draped in black velvet. They approached it eagerly but next moment stopped in their tracks, horrified. John gagged and turned away, and Castiel turned a slight shade of grey. Large, rotten fish were laid on handsome silver platters; cakes, burned charcoal black, were heaped on salvers; there was a great maggoty haggis, a slab of cheese covered in furry green mould and, in pride of place, an enormous cake in the shape of a tombstone. The tar-like icing formed the words, _Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, died 31 st October, 1492._

A portly ghost approached the table, crouched low, walked through it- his mouth held wide so that it passed through one of the stinking salmon.

‘Can you taste it if you walk through it?’ Harry asked him.

‘Almost,’ he replied sadly. John couldn’t take the smell anymore, so pushed Sherlock, and anyone else who wasn’t transparent, away from the table. He rubbed his painful temples and cringed as Peeves swooped up to them.

‘Nibbles?’ he said sweetly, offering them a bowl of fungus covered peanuts.

‘No, thank you,’ Hermione said politely.

‘Heard you talking about poor Myrtle. _Rude_ you were about poor Myrtle.’ He took a deep breath and bellowed, ‘OY! MYRTLE!’

‘Oh, no, Peeves, don’t tell her what I said, she’ll be really upset-‘

‘Do it, it’ll be funny,’ Sherlock said. John gaped at him, lost for words.

‘Hello, Myrtle,’ Hermione said.

The squat ghost of a girl had glided over. She had an extremely glum face, half hidden behind lank hair and thick, pearly spectacles.

‘How are you, Myrtle?’ Hermione said in a falsely bright voice. ‘It’s nice to see you out of the toilet.’

Myrtle sniffed.

‘Miss Granger was just talking about you-‘ Peeves said slyly in Myrtle’s ear. Sherlock giggled quietly.

‘Just saying- saying- how nice you look tonight,’ Hermione said, glaring at Peeves.

Myrtle eyed Hermione suspiciously.

‘You’re making fun of me,’ she said, silver tears rapidly welling in her eyes.

Sherlock’s giggling grew louder.

‘Sherlock, stop it,’ John said sternly, fanning his hot face. But Sherlock didn’t seem to hear him.

‘Don’t lie to me,’ Myrtle gasped, tears now flooding down her face, while Peeves chuckled happily over her shoulder. D’you think that I don’t know what people call me behind my back? Fat Myrtle! Ugly Myrtle! Miserable, moaning, moping Myrtle!’

‘You’ve forgotten pimply,’ Peeves hissed in her ear.

Moaning Myrtle burst into anguished sobs and fled from the dungeon. Peeves shot after her, pelting her with mouldy peanuts, yelling, ‘ _Pimply! Pimply!’_

Once they had both disappeared, Sherlock stopped giggling and looked mildly confused.

‘What was that about?’ John demanded.

‘Oh, erm. Reverse psychology. Thought I’d give it a go. Clearly it didn’t work,’ Sherlock told him. John raised an eyebrow.

‘Yeah, I’m sure.’

Just then the orchestra suddenly stopped playing and the dungeon fell silent.

‘Oh, thank God,’ John whispered. Castiel, who was standing nearby, nodded in agreement.

A hunting horn sounded, causing most of the ghosts to look around in excitement. Through the dungeon wall burst a dozen ghost horses, each ridden by a headless horseman. The assembly clapped wildly.

The horses galloped into the middle of the dance floor and halted. At the front of the pack was a large ghost who held his bearded head under one arm, from which position he was blowing the horn. Sherlock assumed this must be Sir Patrick, but didn’t bother paying attention to the conversation that followed, not even when Castiel jumped at being addressed as a ‘live ‘un’.

At last, when the Headless Hunt began a game of Head Hockey, Ron muttered to Harry.

‘Let’s go,’ he said. They backed towards the door, nodding and smiling at anyone who looked at them, until they were hurrying back up the passageway they’d come down. As they reached the base of the steps that lead up to the entrance hall, Harry stumbled to a halt and pressed his ear against the stone wall. John also had to stop and lean against the wall. His head thumped and he was beginning to feel rather dizzy.

‘John-‘

‘Shut up a minute- it’s that voice again-‘

Harry squinted around and John rubbed his eyes to clear his vision

‘This way,’ Harry shouted. He bolted up the stairs into the entrance hall. He was already sprinting up the marble staircase to the first floor by the time the rest of them came clattering after him.

‘It’s going to kill someone!’ they heard him shout. He kept running, up to the second floor and around each of the deserted passageways until they came to the last one’

‘Harry, _what_ was that all about?’ Ron panted. ‘I couldn’t hear anything.’

But before Harry could answer, Hermione gasped and pointed down the corridor.

‘ _Look!’_

Something was shining on the wall ahead. They approached slowly, squinting through the darkness. Foot high words had been daubed on the wall between two windows.

_THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE._

As soon as John laid eyes on the words he felt his headache disappear, but not before a wave of dizziness almost caused him to lose his balance.

‘What’s that thing- hanging underneath?’ Ron said, a slight quiver in his voice. They edged closer, Harry nearly slipping on a puddle of water on the floor. Castiel did not seem curious about the ominous message on the wall, and wished he hadn’t come out that night at all. The five of them who had gone to get a closer look, suddenly leapt backwards as they realised what it was.

Mrs Norris was hanging from the torch bracket, stiff as a board and eyes wide and staring.

‘We have to go,’ Sherlock said, breaking the silence.

‘Shouldn’t we try to help-‘ Harry began.

‘Trust me. We don’t want to be found here.’

‘Sherlock’s right,’ Ron said. The two of them rarely agreed on anything, so it was best to do as they said. Unfortunately it was too late to heed their words. A rumble, like that of distant thunder, from downstairs told them that the feast had just ended. From either end of the corridor came the sound of hundreds of feet climbing the stairs. The next moment, students came crashing into the passage from both ends.

The chatter and noise suddenly died as the people in front spotted the hanging cat. The six of them stood alone as silence fell among the mass of students pressing forward to see the grisly sight.

Then someone shouted through the quiet.

‘Enemies of the heir, beware! You’ll be next, Mudbloods!’

It was Draco Malfoy. He had pushed to the front of the crowd, his cold eyes alive, his usually bloodless face flushed, as he grinned at the sight of the stiff cat.


	6. The Writing on the Wall

The Writing on the Wall

Castiel backed up against the un-graffitied part of the wall, but had nowhere to hide. He could feel the hundreds of eyes on him and felt his chest constrict. Gabriel detached himself from the crowd and crouched in front of Castiel, yellow prefect badge flashing.

'What happened?' he asked in a low voice. Castiel shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the feeling of being watched. Gabriel grimaced.

'What's going on here? What's going on?'

Attracted no doubt my Malfoy's shout, Argus Filch came shouldering his way through the crowd. Then he saw Mrs Norris and fell back, clutching his face in horror.

'My cat! My cat! What's happened to Mrs Norris?' he shrieked. Castiel shrunk away from Filch, whose popping eyes fell on Harry.

' _You!'_ he screeched. ' _You!_ You've murdered my cat! You've killed her! I'll kill you!'

'Back off!' Gabriel said loudly, standing between Filch and Harry.

'I'll kill him! I'll-'

' _Argus!'_

Dumbledore had arrived on the scene, followed by a number of teachers. In seconds he had swept past the Gryffindors and Sherlock and detached Mrs Norris from the torch bracket.

'Come with me, Argus,' he said to Filch. 'And you six.'

'Headmaster, may I come as well?' Gabriel asked.

'No, Gabriel. I need you and the other Prefects to make sure the students are back in their dormitories.'

'Yes, sir.'

Gabriel turned to Castiel.

'Listen, you haven't done anything wrong, okay? You'll be fine,' he said bracingly.

Castiel nodded and Gabriel patted him gently on the shoulder, before going to shepherd the rest of the students away.

Lockhart stepped forward eagerly.

'My office is nearest, Headmaster- just upstairs-please feel free-'

'Thank you, Gilderoy,' said Dumbledore. John walked beside Castiel, whispering a stream of encouragements to him as they went. Lockhart, looking excited and important, hurried after Dumbledore. As did Professors McGonagall and Snape.

As they entered Lockhart's darkened office, there was a flurry of movement across the walls. Several of the Lockharts in the pictures were dodging out of sight, their hair in rollers. The real Lockhart lit the candles on his desk and stood back to allow Dumbledore to lay Mrs Norris on the polished surface. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and John sank apprehensively into chairs, and Sherlock sat, cross-legged, on a table. Castiel, again, backed into a wall and hoped he would melt out of sight. He couldn't keep his eyes off of Mrs Norris and imagined a look of terror on her feline features. He held his breath while Dumbledore examined her. The silence was heavy and tense and all eyes, even the Lockharts on the walls in the pictures who had pulled their rollers out, were fixed on Dumbledore and the cat. Professor McGonagall was bent almost as close as Dumbledore, Snape lurked in the shadows with a peculiar expression on his face- as if he were trying to cover up a smile- and Lockhart buzzed around them, making suggestions.

'It was definitely a curse that killed her- probably the Transmogrifian Torture. I've seen it used so many times, so unlucky I wasn't there; I know the very counter-curse that could have saved her.'

'Are you aware that you're talking out loud, or do the words just skip your brain and go straight to your mouth?' Sherlock said abruptly to Lockhart. Hermione gasped and Castiel slid down the wall slightly out of shock. Professor McGonagall frowned at Sherlock, while Lockhart flicked a sharp glare at him, though he soon concealed it with his previous excited expression. Filch, however, paid no attention, as he was too busy crying loudly with his hands over his face.

Dumbledore muttered some strange words and tapped Mrs Norris with his wand, but nothing happened.

'I remember something very similar happening in Ougadougou,' Lockhart said, 'a series of attacks, the full story's in my autobiography. I was able to provide the townsfolk with various amulets which cleared the matter up at once.'

'Please, do shut up,' Sherlock snapped. 'Are you telling me that  _this_ was the best you could find?'

'That is  _quite_ enough of that, Mr Holmes,' Professor McGonagall said sharply. Sherlock closed his mouth but looked as if he badly wanted to stop talking. John shook his head slightly, hoping Sherlock was looking at him. They suffered through another painful silence- punctuated by Filch's dry, racking sobs- until Dumbledore straightened up.

'She's not dead, Argus,' he said softly.

Lockhart's head snapped to look at him.

'Not dead?' choked Filch. 'But why's she all stiff and frozen?'

'She has been Petrified,' said Dumbledore.

'Ah! I thought so!' Lockhart said promptly. Sherlock's mouth fell open in contempt and then twisted into a sneer. John cringed slightly, praying Sherlock would never look at  _him_ that way.

'You are an absolute moron! I'd rather have no teacher at all than be taught by you!' Sherlock said with unnecessary aggression.

'Ten points from Ravenclaw,' McGonagall said furiously, nostrils flaring.

'What's the  _matter_ with you?' Hermione whispered once the teachers had turned their attention back to the cat. Sherlock didn't answer, his jaw clenched in anger.

'Yes, she has been Petrified, but how, I cannot say,' Dumbledore continued.

'Ask  _them!'_ shrieked Filch, turning his blotched, tear-stained face to Harry and pointing a shaking finger at both him and Castiel. Castiel's knees turned to jelly and his fingers clutched at the wall behind him.

'No second-year could have done this,' said Dumbledore firmly. 'It would take Dark Magic of the most advanced-'

'They did it! They did it!' Filch spat. 'You saw what they wrote on the wall! They found-in my office-they know I'm a- I'm a- they know I'm a Squib!'

'For goodness' sake, pull yourself together! Not everyone's as prejudiced as you are. A couple of twelve-year olds aren't going to Petrify your cat just because you're a Squib,' Sherlock said. 'Looks like we found someone almost as stupid as you,' he shot at Lockhart.

'Detention, Holmes. Go and wait outside,' Professor McGonagall snapped. Sherlock stormed from the office.

'What was that about?' Harry asked once he'd gone. Everyone except Filch looked at John, who crossed his arms defensively.

'What? I don't know. Why would I know?'

'This isn't about him!' Filch shouted impatiently. 'This is about  _them,_ and what they did to my cat!'

'I never  _touched_ Mrs Norris!' Harry said loudly. 'Neither did Castiel, and I don't even know what a Squib  _is.'_

'Rubbish!' snarled Filch. 'They saw my Kwikspell letter!'

'If I might speak, Headmaster,' said Snape from the shadows. The sound of his voice made Castiel want to shrivel up until he was small enough to be invisible to the naked eye.

'Potter and his friends may simply have been in the wrong place at the wrong time,' Snape continued, a slight sneer curling at the corners of his mouth, 'but we do have a set of suspicious set of circumstances here. Why were they in the upstairs corridor at all? Why weren't they at the Hallowe'en feast?'

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and John all launched into an explanation about the Deathday Party. Castiel let them talk and focused his attention on tracing the patterns on the stone floor.

'But why not join the feast afterwards? Why go up that corridor?'

'Because-because-'

Castiel could tell he was struggling to find an answer that didn't have anything to do with the voice he'd heard.

'Because we were tired and wanted to go to bed,' Harry said.

'Without any supper?' said Snape. 'I didn't think ghosts provided food fit for living people at their parties.'

'We weren't hungry,' said Ron loudly, as his stomach gave a huge rumble.

'I suggest, Headmaster, that Potter and his friends aren't being entirely truthful, and I, for one, am quite interested in what Edlund has to say on the matter, given his talent for silence,' Snape said.

Castiel stiffened and glanced up at Dumbledore, then quickly looked back down at his feet. He opened his mouth to try to speak, but nothing made it past his furiously beating heart.

'Castiel,' Dumbledore said soothingly, 'do you agree with this version of events?'

Castiel nodded jerkily.

'There you have it, Severus,' Dumbledore said.

'As I say, Headmaster, I feel they are not being entirely truthful,' Snape continued, heedless of Castiel. 'It might be a good idea if they were deprived of certain privileges until they are ready to tell the whole story. Perhaps Potter should be taken off the Gryffindor Quidditch team, for instance, until he is ready to be honest.'

'Really, Severus,' said Professor McGonagall sharply, 'I see no reason to stop the boy playing Quidditch. The cat wasn't hit over the head with a broomstick. There is no evidence at all that Potter or any of his friends have done anything wrong.'

Castiel clenched his fists tightly, holding each breath as long as he could, hoping that no one would look at him if he made as little movement as possible. He heard Dumbledore speak softly, but firmly.

'Innocent until proven guilty, Severus.'

'My cat has been Petrified!' Filch shrieked, causing Castiel to squeak slightly and take a step back. 'I want to see some punishment!'

'We will be able to cure her, Argus,' Dumbledore said patiently. 'Madam Sprout recently managed to procure some Mandrakes. As soon as they have reached their full size, I will have a potion made that will revive Mrs Norris.'

'I'll make it,' Lockhart butted in. John cringed, almost able to hear what Sherlock would have said. 'I must have done it a hundred times, I could whip up a Mandrake Restorative Draught in my sleep-'

'Excuse me,' Snape said icily, 'but I believe that  _I_ am the Potions master at this school.'

There was a very awkward pause.

'You may go,' Dumbledore said to the five of them. They went as quickly as they could without actually running. As soon as they were outside, Castiel felt tears rush unbidden to his eyes and he dashed off before anyone could see them streaming down his cheeks.

The rest of them hurried away from Lockhart's office, picking up Sherlock from where he was waiting at the end of the corridor. Once they were a floor up, they turned into a classroom and closed the door quietly behind them.

'D'you think I should have told them about the voice I heard?' Harry asked Ron.

'No,' Ron and Sherlock said without hesitation.

'Hearing voices no one else can hear isn't a good sign, even in the wizarding world,' Ron explained. Something in his voice prompted Harry to ask, 'You do believe me, don't you?'

'Course I do,' Ron said quickly. 'But you must admit it's weird…'

'I know it's weird,' said Harry. 'The whole thing's weird. What was that writing on the wall about?  _The Chamber has been opened…_ What's that supposed to mean?'

'You know, it rings sort of a bell,' said Ron slowly. 'I think someone told me a story about a secret chamber at Hogwarts once… might've been Bill… Sherlock? Know anything?'

'I- it sounds familiar,' Sherlock said hesitantly. He was having difficulty concentrating on anything at all, though he was unlikely to admit it.

'And what on earth's a Squib?' said Harry.

Ron stifled a snigger and Sherlock smirked.

'Well- it's not funny really- but as it's Filch…' Ron said. 'A Squib is someone who was born into a wizarding family but hasn't got any magic powers. Kind of the opposite of Muggle-born wizards, but Squibs are quite unusual.'

'That would explain why he hates students so much,' John said.

A clock chimed somewhere.

'Midnight,' Harry said. 'We'd better get to bed before Snape comes along and tried to frame us for something else.'

'Are you going to check on Castiel before bed?' John asked Sherlock as they left the classroom.

'No, I'm sure he's fine. Madam Pomfrey wouldn't let me in the hospital wing at this hour anyway,' Sherlock said.

'Okay, well, goodnight then.'

'Goodnight.'

* * *

For a few days, the school could talk of little but the attack on Mrs Norris. Filch paced the spot she had been attacked, occasionally scrubbing at the message on the wall. He used bottles and bottles of 'Mrs Skower's All Purpose Magical Mess Remover', but to no avail, the words gleamed tauntingly at him as he stamped up and down the corridor, picking on unsuspecting students for things like 'breathing loudly' and 'looking happy'.

Ginny Weasley seemed very disturbed by Mrs Norris's fate. According to Ron, she was a great cat lover. She wasn't the only one affected. In the days since the attack, Castiel had refused to leave the hospital wing for anything but lessons, and he melted two cauldrons in one Potions lesson. Sherlock visited him the second night he was away from Ravenclaw tower, and caught him muttering to himself while making the beds.

'Seigneur, j'ai besoin de vous parce que je suis pleine de stress et d'anxiété. La lecture de votre mot apporte confort, que je vous demande de venir prendre mes lourdes charges-'

'You're religious, Castiel?' Sherlock interrupted. Castiel jumped and turned red.

'You speak French?' he mumbled, flattening a crease in the sheet in front of him. Sherlock shrugged. 'Yes, I am.'

'Does it make you feel any better?' Sherlock asked. Castiel hesitated, looking for signs of contempt on his face, but found only curiosity.

'It's comforting to know that someone is watching over you,' Castiel replied. 'My apologies, Sherlock, I know that Christians are not quite as common here as they are in the States, especially among wizards. Usually I pray silently,' he added hurriedly.

'No need to apologise. I don't understand it myself, but I don't mind if other people do. There's no point in badgering people about their religion when there are so many more interesting things to learn about.'

'Um.'

'Anyway, would you like some help with your Potions homework?'

The attack also had an effect on Hermione. It was quite usual for her to spend a lot of time reading, but she was now doing almost nothing else. John watched her from the table he and Sherlock spent most of their time sat at, sifting through newspapers, with several copies of Lockhart's books strewn about them. John found himself gazing at a familiar, faded headline. In fact, they had already gone through the entire stack. When he pointed this out, Sherlock stared at the newspaper and frowned.

'Are you sure? I don't remember seeing them,' he said.

'Yeah, I'm sure. I remember because you said that this man in the picture should try curling his hair if his intention was to look like a woman.'

'Oh. Yes.'

'Are you all right, Sherlock?' John asked, trying to peer past his thick hair.'

'Yes. Fine.'

He abruptly rose from the table and left John sitting alone with the newspapers.

Not long afterwards, Ron appeared and spread his homework across the table.

'What's that?' John asked him.

'History of Magic,' Ron said. 'Medieval Assembly of European wizards.'

John nodded. The one good thing about spending so much time in the library was that he got his homework done in good time. Ron took out a measuring tape and Harry arrived just as he let go of his parchment and it snapped back into a roll.

'I don't believe it, I'm still eight inches short,' he said furiously. 'Hermione's done four feet, seven inches, and her writing's  _tiny.'_

John rested his chin on his hand and watched Harry unroll his own homework.

'Where  _is_ Hermione?' Harry asked.

'Somewhere over there,' John sad, waving a hand at the shelves, 'looking for another book. I think she's trying to read the whole library before Christmas.'

Ron frowned and bent over his essay and made his handwriting as large as possible to fill more space. Hermione emerged from between the bookshelves, looking irritable.

' _All_ the copies of  _Hogwarts: A History_ have been taken out,' she said, sitting down next to John. 'And there's a two week waiting list. I  _wish_ I hadn't left my copy at home, but I couldn't fit it in my trunk with all the Lockhart books.'

'Why do you want it?' said Harry.

'The same reason everyone wants it, to read up on the legend of the Chamber of Secrets,' she said.

'What's that?' Harry asked.

'That's just it. I can't remember,' Hermione said, biting her lip.

 _I can't remember._ The words echoed in John's head.

'Does Sherlock seem a bit off to you lately?' he asked suddenly. Ron shrugged.

'He's always like that,' he said.

'Mmm.'

'Hermione, let me read your composition,' Ron said desperately, checking his watch.

'No, I won't,' Hermione said, suddenly severe. 'You've had ten days to finish it.'

'I only need another two inches, go on…'

'Here, take mine,' John said, handing over his roll of parchment distractedly. Ron rushed to finish his work and gave it back just as the bell rang. Ron and Hermione led the way to History of Magic bickering.

John sat in his usual seat beside Hermione and concentrated on what she was writing instead of Professor Binns talking. He found that this stopped him from falling asleep during the lesson.

Today was as boring as ever. Professor Binns opened his notes and began to read in a flat drone like an old vacuum cleaner, until nearly everyone in the class was in a deep stupor. He had been speaking for half an hour when something happened that had never happened before. Hermione put her hand up.

Professor Binns stopped in the middle of his lecture, looking amazed.

'Miss-er-?'

'Granger, Professor. I was wondering if you could tell us anything about the Chamber of Secrets,' Hermione said in a clear voice.

John lifted his head away from his hand to look at her and revealed a nice, red handprint across his cheek.

Professor Binns blinked.

'My subject is History of Magic,' he said in his dry, wheezy voice. 'I deal in  _fact_ , Miss Granger, not myths and legends.'

He cleared his throat and continued his lecture, stuttering to a halt at Hermione's hand waving in the air again.

'Miss Grant?'

'Please, sir, don't legends always have a basis in fact?'

Professor Binns was looking at her in such amazement, John was sure no student had interrupted him before.

'Well,' Professor Binns said slowly, 'one could argue that, I suppose.' He peered at Hermione as though he had never seen a student properly before. 'However, the legend of which you speak is such a very  _sensational,_ even  _ludicrous_ tale…'

But the whole class were now hanging on Professor Binns' every word. He looked dimly at them all, every face turned to his. He was completely thrown by such an unusual show of interest.

'Oh, very well,' he said slowly. 'Let me see… the Chamber of Secrets…

'You all know, of course, that Hogwarts was founded over a thousand years ago by the greatest witches and wizards of the age. The four school houses are named after them: Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Salazar Slytherin. They built this castle far from prying Muggle eyes, in a time when magic was feared and hated by common people.'

He paused to gaze blearily around the room. John glanced sideways at Hermione and saw that she was listening so intently that she wasn't even taking notes.

'For a few years, the founders worked in harmony together, seeking out youngsters that showed signs of magic and bringing them to the castle to be educated. But then disagreements sprang up between them. A rift began to grow between Slytherin and the others. Slytherin wished to be more  _selective_ about the students admitted to Hogwarts.

'Shocker,' Ron muttered.

'He believed that magical learning should be kept within all-magic families. He disliked taking students of Muggle parentage, believing them to be untrustworthy. After a while, there was a serious argument on the subject between Gryffindor and Slytherin, and Slytherin left the school.'

Professor Binns paused again.

'Reliable historical sources tell us this much,' he said, 'but those facts have been obscured by the fanciful legend of the Chamber of Secrets. The story goes that Slytherin had built a hidden chamber in the castle, of which the other founders knew nothing.

'Slytherin, according to the legend, sealed the Chamber of Secrets so that none would be able to open it until his own true heir arrived at the school. The heir alone would be able to unseal the Chamber of Secrets, unleash the horror within, and use it to purge the school of all who were unworthy to study magic.

John shivered violently and smashed his elbow painfully against the table. He suppressed a groan and rubbed it vigorously. No one took any notice of him and continued to watch Professor Binns, hoping for more. He, however, looked faintly annoyed.

'The whole thing is arrant nonsense of course,' he said. 'Naturally, the school has been searched for evidence of such a chamber, many times, by the most learned witches and wizards. It does not exist. A tale told to frighten the gullible.'

Hermione's hand was back in the air.

'Sir- what exactly do you mean by the 'horror within' the Chamber?'

'That is believed to be some sort of monster, which the heir of Slytherin alone can control,' said Professor Binns.

The class exchanged nervous looks and John shivered again, this time avoiding hitting his limbs on anything solid.

'I tell you, the thing does not exist,' said Professor Binns. 'There is no Chamber and no monster.'

'But, sir,' Seamus Finnegan said from across the room, 'if the Chamber can only be opened by Slytherin's true heir, no one else  _would_ be able to find it, would they?'

'Nonsense, O'Flaherty,' said Professor Binns in an aggravated tone. 'If a long succession of Hogwarts headmasters and headmistresses haven't found the thing-'

'But, Professor,' Parvati Patil piped up, 'you'd probably have to use Dark Magic to open it-'

'Just because a wizard  _doesn't_ use Dark Magic, doesn't mean he  _can't,_ Miss Pennyfeather,' snapped Professor Binns. 'I repeat, if the likes of Dumbledore-'

'But maybe you've got to be related to Slytherin, so Dumbledore couldn't-' began Dean Thomas, but Professor Binns had had enough.

'That will do,' he said sharply. 'It is a myth! It does not exist! There is no shred of evidence that Slytherin ever built so much as a secret broom cupboard! I regret telling you such a foolish story. We will return, if you please, to  _history,_ to solid, verifiable  _fact!'_

And within five minutes, the class had sunk back into its usual torpor.

* * *

'I always knew Salazar Slytherin was a twisted old loony,' Ron told them, as they fought their way through teeming corridors at the end of the lesson to drop off their bags before dinner.

'Why's that?' Sherlock said, appearing behind them. Castiel pushed past them and disappeared down the corridor.

'Professor Binns just told us the legend of the Chamber of Secrets,' Hermione explained.

'Well, I could have told you that,' Sherlock frowned.

'But we asked you and you said you didn't know,' John said suspiciously.

'Oh.'

He didn't speak for moment while they were being squashed by other students.

'Is your elbow all right?'

'My elbow?' John said, rubbing the bruise. 'It's fine- how did you know?'

'Seamus told me you hit it on a table. Are you sure you're all right, you look pale.'

John's eyebrows shot up.

'Sherlock, I'm fine, and actually, I'm not pale, that's you. Maybe you should go to the hospital wing.'

'No, no, I'm all right.'

They were shunted along in the throng and Colin Creevey went past.

'Hiya, Harry!'

'Hullo, Colin,' Harry said automatically.

'Harry- Harry- a boy in my class has been saying you're-'

But Colin was so small he couldn't fight against the tide of people bearing him towards the Great Hall. They heard him squeak, 'See you, Harry!' and he was gone.

'What's a boy in his class saying about you?' Hermione wondered.

'That Harry's the heir of Slytherin, I expect,' John said.

'People here'll believe anything,' said Ron in disgust.

The crowd thinned and they were able to climb the next staircase without difficulty.

'D'you  _really_ think there's a Chamber of Secrets?' Ron asked Hermione.

'I don't know,' she said, frowning. 'Dumbledore couldn't cure Mrs Norris, and that makes me think that whatever attacked her might not be- well- human.'

'Well of course it's not human. No human has that sort of power,' Sherlock said. 'The only thing I can think of that does is a Gorgon, and I very much doubt we have one of those running around the castle.'

As he spoke, they turned a corner and found themselves at the end of the very corridor where the attack had happened. The corridor itself was now deserted, except for the silhouette of Castiel standing against a wall, staring at his feet.

'What are you doing up here?' John asked him.

'I- I was supposed to meet Gabriel here, but he hasn't come,' looking up slightly.

Filch ad left an empty chair against the wall bearing the message 'The Chamber has been opened.'

'Mr Filch went for dinner,' Castiel told them. Harry looked around at the others.

'Can't hurt to have a poke around,' he said, dropping his bag and getting on his hands and knees, searching for clues.

'Scorch marks!' he said. 'Here- and here-'

'Ah, yes, those were me. Unfortunate accident with a levitating torch,' Sherlock said. Harry rolled his eyes and stood up again.

'Come and look at this!' said Hermione. 'This is funny…'

They crossed to the window next to the message on the wall. Hermione was pointing at the topmost pane, where around twenty spiders were scuttling, apparently fighting to get through a small crack in the glass. A long, silvery thread was dangling like a rope, as though they had all climbed it in their hurry to get outside.

'Have you ever seen spiders act like that?' said Hermione wonderingly.

'No,' said Harry.

'He's afraid of spiders,' Sherlock smirked. 'Fred once turned his teddy bear into a spider.'

'Oh, you think it's funny, do you, Mr I-Can't-Fly-A-Broom,' Ron said hotly.

'Totally different. A broom can kill you. Heights can kill you.'

'Spiders can kill you!'

'Not in this country.'

'Oh, please, stop!' John said exasperatedly.

'Remember all that water on the floor?' Harry said, hurriedly changing the subject. 'Where did it come from? Someone's mopped it up.'

'It was about here,' Ron said, walking a few paces past Filch's chair and pointing. 'Level with this door.'

He reached for the brass doorknob but suddenly withdrew his hand as though he'd been burned.

'What's the matter?' said Harry.

'Can't go in there,' Ron said gruffly, 'that's a girls' toilet.'

'Oh, for goodness' sake,' Sherlock said. He moved past Ron, opened the door and walked in without hesitation.

'Don't worry, Ron, no one will be in there. It's Moaning Myrtle's bathroom,' Hermione said.

She too opened the door and followed Sherlock in. Castiel hung back for a moment, bouncing from foot to foot before finally going in himself.

Sherlock was already examining the basins and Hermione was tiptoeing towards the end cubicle. When she reached it she said, 'Hello, Myrtle, how are you?'

The boys went to look and saw Moaning Myrtle floating on the cistern of the toilet, picking at a spot on her chin.

'This is a  _girls'_ bathroom,' she said, eyeing them suspiciously. ' _They're_ not girls.'

'We just wanted to have a look around,' Castiel said. Myrtle looked at him.

'You're  _American,'_ she said. 'There was an American boy in here the other day. Very handsome he was.'

'Ask her if she saw anything,' Harry mouthed at Hermione.

'What are you whispering?' said Myrtle, staring at him.

'Nothing,' Harry said quickly. 'We wanted to ask-'

'I wish people would stop talking behind my back!' said Myrtle, in a voice choked with tears. 'I  _do_ have feelings, you know, even if I am dead.'

'Myrtle, no one wants to upset you,' John said. 'Harry only-'

'No one wants to upset me! That's a good one!' howled Myrtle. Sherlock opened his mouth and John elbowed him.

'Say nothing,' he hissed, remembering the last time Sherlock was in the same room as Moaning Myrtle.

'My life was nothing but misery at this place and now people come along ruining my death!'

'We wanted to ask you if you'd seen anything funny lately,' Hermione said quickly, 'because a cat was attacked right outside your front door on Hallowe'en.'

'Did you see anyone near here that night?' asked Harry.

'I wasn't paying attention,' Myrtle said dramatically. 'Peeves upset me so much I came in here and tried to  _kill_ myself. Then, of course I remembered that I'm- that I'm-'

'Already dead,' Ron said helpfully.

Myrtle gave a tragic sob, rose up in the air, turned over and dived head first into the toilet, splashing water all over them and vanishing from sight. From the direction of her muffled sobs, she had come to rest somewhere in the U-bend.

Hermione sighed wearily.

'Honestly, that was almost cheerful for Myrtle… come on, let's go.'

They had barely gotten out of the door when a loud voice made all six of them jump.

'RON!'

Percy Weasley had stopped dead at the head of the stairs.

'That's a  _girls'_ bathroom!' he gasped. 'What were you-?'

'What's going on?' another voice from behind Percy said. Gabriel stepped up beside Percy and grinned at Castiel.

'I just found them coming out of the girls' bathroom,' Percy told him.

'Oh, yeah? Looking for clues? Doing the detective bit I bet,' Gabriel said. 'Hey, little brother, sorry I'm late. I accidentally transfigured a guy's nose into a carrot. McGonagall did not find it quite as amusing as I did. Find anything good in there? Besides Moaning Myrtle, I mean.'

Castiel shook his head.

'Get- away- from- there-' Percy said, striding towards them, flapping his arms.

'Hey, relax, it's not like this is the first time they've been in the girls' bathroom, am I right?' Gabriel joked, following him down the corridor. Percy turned to glare at him.

'Why on  _earth_ Dumbledore made you a Prefect, I'll never know,' he spat angrily.

'Okay, rude.'

'Don't you  _care_ what this looks like?' Percy said to Ron. 'Coming back here while everyone's at dinner…'

'Why shouldn't we be here,' Ron said hotly. 'Listen, we never laid a finger on that cat!'

'That's what I told Ginny,' Percy said fiercely, 'but she still seems to think you're going to be expelled. I've never seen her so upset, crying her eyes out. You might think of  _her,_ all the first-years are thoroughly over-excited about this business-'

' _You_ don't care about Ginny,' said Ron, whose ears were reddening now. ' _You're_ just worried I'm going to mess up your chances of being Head Boy.'

Castiel slowly backed away from the raised voices and Gabriel, seeing the small movement, stepped between the two Weasley brothers.

'Ok, that's enough!' he said sternly. 'Everyone just calm down. Do you really think yelling at each other is solving anything? Geez, the British are high strung.'

Percy and Ron glared coldly at each other for another moment.

'Five points from Gryffindor!' Percy said tersely, fingering his Prefect badge. 'And I hope it teaches you a lesson! No more  _detective_ work, or I'll write to Mum!'

And he strode off, the back of his neck as red as Ron's ears.

Gabriel slung an arm around Castiel's shoulders.

'Come on, kid, Hagrid's waiting for us,' he said.

'He is?'

'Yeah, we're going for dinner. And he picked out a nice spot where you can plant those apple trees, too.'

The rest of them, minus Castiel, headed back to the Gryffindor common room, sitting as far away from Percy as possible, and setting out their Charms homework. Sherlock and John practiced origami with scraps of parchment, having finished their homework already. Ron was still in a foul mood and kept blotting his parchment, and when he reached for his wand to clear it, he accidentally ignited it. Fuming almost as much as his homework, Ron slammed  _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2_ shut. To their surprise, so did Hermione.

'Who can it be, though?' she said in a quiet voice. 'Who'd  _want_ all the Squibs and Muggle-borns out of Hogwarts?'

'Let's think,' Ron said in mock puzzlement. 'Who do we know who thinks Muggle-borns are scum?'

He looked at Hermione. Hermione looked back, unconvinced.

'If you're talking about Malfoy-'

'Of course I am!' said Ron. 'You heard him: " _You'll be next, Mudbloods!"._ Come on, you've only got to look at his foul rat face to know it's him-'

'Malfoy, the heir of Slytherin?' said Hermione sceptically.

'Look at his family,' said Harry, closing his books too. 'The whole lot of them have been in Slytherin, he's always boasting about it. They could easily be Slytherin's descendants.'

'Don't be ridiculous,' Sherlock said. 'Just because they're in Slytherin, doesn't mean they're descendants of him. My family have all been in Ravenclaw, and we're not descended from her. Nor are the Weasleys descended from Gryffindor.'

'Sherlock's right,' John said, holding up a lopsided paper bird. 'Malfoy's not the most pleasant person around, but he's not likely to be Slytherin's heir. I mean, can any of you honestly see him  _killing_ anyone? Because I don't.'

'Why do you have to disagree with everything?' Ron said exasperatedly.

'Because, Ron, you like to pin things on people you don't like without even thinking about it. Remember Snape last year?'

Sherlock gave John a searching look.

'Even still, Harry's got a point. It's not very likely, but it is still possible,' Hermione said reasonably.

'But how do we prove it?' Harry said.

'There might be a way,' Hermione said slowly, glancing at Sherlock. 'Of course, it would be difficult. And dangerous, very dangerous. We'd be breaking about fifty school rules, I expect.'

John snorted.

'That's different. So, come on, what is it?' he said.

'Well, what we'd need to do is get inside the Slytherin common room and ask Malfoy a few questions without him realising it's us.'

Sherlock smiled at her.

'That sounds like an excellent idea,' he said.

Harry and Ron exchanged confused looks and John rolled his eyes.

'He means, he knows what she's talking about and they're doing that thing where they assume we know too, but we don't. So, care to explain?'

'Polyjuice Potion,' Hermione and Sherlock said in unison.

'Are we supposed to know what that is?' John said.

'Snape mentioned it in class a few weeks ago-'

'Do you think we've got nothing better to do in Potions than listen to Snape?' Ron muttered.

'It transforms you into someone else. Think about it! We could change into Slytherins. No one would know it was us. Malfoy would tell us anything.'

'This Polyjuice stuff sounds a bit dodgy to me,' Ron frowned. 'What if we got stuck looking like Slytherins forever?'

'It wears off,' Sherlock said impatiently.

'Yes, but getting the recipe will be very difficult. Snape said it was in a book called  _Moste Potente Potions_ and it's bound to be in the Restricted Section of the library.'

There was only one way to get a book out of the Restricted Section: you needed a signed note from a teacher.

'Hard to see why we'd want the book, really,' said Ron, 'if we weren't going to try and make one of the potions.'

'I think,' said Hermione, 'that if we made it sound as though we were just interested in the theory we might stand a chance…'

'Oh, come on, no teacher's going to fall for that,' said Ron. 'They'd have to be really thick…'


	7. The Rogue Bludger

The Rogue Bludger

Somehow, Gabriel convinced Castiel to come out of the hospital wing and, one morning, he joined them at breakfast.

‘Morning,’ Hermione smiled.

Sherlock was already there, sitting with John.

‘You all right?’ John asked.

He nodded awkwardly and pulled a bowl towards himself, spooning a small amount of porridge into it. He sat quietly, not particularly listening to anyone until the post came.

Owls and letters fluttered around the room and one winged towards Castiel with a sparkly blue envelope in its beak. He froze, spoon half way out of the bowl, but relaxed as it flew closer and he recognized Gabriel’s handwriting. Sherlock went to stand up but Castiel placated him with a hand on his arm.

‘It’s from Gabriel,’ he told him.

‘Why is he sending you letters when he could just talk to you?’

‘We’ll soon find out,’ he said patiently.

The owl dropped the letter and it landed neatly in front of them. Castiel picked it up and carefully slit it open. For a moment, nothing happened, but then multi-coloured confetti and streamers flew out of the envelope. They filled the air and then came together to form the number thirteen; floating gently down over Castiel’s head and shoulders. Everyone around him hastily moved their breakfast to avoid getting confetti in their food. Castiel smiled and Gabriel bounded over from the Hufflepuff table.

‘Happy birthday!’ he exclaimed, placing a small, neatly wrapped present in front of him.

‘Thank you, Gabriel,’ Castiel smiled, gently ripping the paper off. Once the paper came off, he gaped at the sleek, black box that was inside.

‘Is- is this what I think it is?’ he said, wide-eyed.

‘Why don’t you open it and find out?’

‘Why didn’t you tell us it was your birthday?’ Hermione asked. Castiel blushed faintly and shrugged. He opened the box to reveal a large, eagle-feather quill decorated black and gold.

‘Oh, Gabriel, you _shouldn’t_ have,’ he said.

‘I will get my little brother anything I want to get him on his birthday,’ Gabriel said stubbornly.

‘But, Gabriel-‘

‘But nothing. Enjoy your gift and I will see you at lunch.’

Gabriel ruffled Castiel’s hair and walked off.

‘Happy birthday,’ Hermione said belatedly, followed by mumbles of the same words from the four boys.

‘Thank you,’ he said, closing the lid of his quill carefully.

Soon after, the bell signalled the beginning of lessons.

Sherlock and Castiel left for Transfiguration and the Gryffindors headed for Defence Against the Dark Arts.

Since the disastrous episode with the pixies, Lockhart had not brought any live creatures into the lesson, instead choosing to act out passages from his books; often calling Harry up to the front of the class to demonstrate the magical creatures he had defeated. During this particular lesson, Harry was called upon to be a werewolf. He looked as if he would very much loved to have refused, but he needed to keep Lockhart in a good mood.

‘Nice loud howl, Harry – exactly – and then, if you’ll believe it, I pounced – like this – _slammed_ him into the floor – thus – with one hand, I managed to hold him down – with the other, I put my wand to his throat – I screwed up my remaining strength and performed the immensely complex Homorphus Charm – he let out a piteous moan – go on, Harry – higher than that – good – the fur vanished – the fangs shrank and he turned back into a man. Simple, yet effective – and another village will remember me forever as the hero who delivered them from the monthly terror of werewolf attacks.’

The bell rang and Lockhart got to his feet.

‘Homework: compose a poem about my defeat of the Wagga Wagga werewolf! Signed copies of _Magical Me_ to the author of the best one!’

John snorted softly to himself, thinking about the homework that he would spend exactly zero minutes doing it.

Harry returned to the back of the room where they were waiting for him.

‘Ready?’ Harry muttered.

‘Not yet,’ Hermione said nervously. ‘All right…’

She approached Lockhart’s desk, a piece of paper clutched tightly in her hand; Harry, Ron, and John right behind her.

‘Er – Professor Lockhart?’ she stammered. ‘I want to – to get this book out of the library. Just for background reading.’ She held out the piece of paper, her hand shaking slightly. ‘But the thing is, it’s in the Restricted Section of the library, so I need a teacher to sign for it – I’m sure it would help me understand what you say in _Gadding with Ghouls_ about slow-acting venoms...’

‘Ah, _Gadding with Ghouls!’_ said Lockhart, taking the note from Hermione and smiling widely at her. ‘Possibly my favourite book. You enjoyed it?’

‘Oh, yes,’ Hermione said eagerly. ‘So clever, the way you trapped that last one with a tea strainer…’

‘Well, I’m sure no one will mind me giving the best student in the year a little extra help – although, that Castiel could give you a run for your money,’ Lockhart said warmly, and he pulled out an enormous peacock feather-quill. ‘Yes, it’s nice, isn’t it?’ he said, misreading the revolted look on Ron’s face. ‘I usually save it for book signings.’

He scrawled an enormous loopy signature on the note and handed it back to Hermione.

‘So, Harry,’ said Lockhart, while Hermione folded the note with fumbling fingers and slipped it into her bag, ‘tomorrow’s the first Quidditch match of the season, I believe? Gryffindor against Slytherin, is it not? I hear you’re a useful player. I was a Seeker, too. I was asked to try for the National Squad-‘

John made a choking noise to cover his disbelief.

‘All right there, Watson? I was asked to try for the National Squad, but preferred to dedicate my life to the eradication of Dark Forces. Still, if you feel the need for a little private training, don’t hesitate to ask. Always happy to pass on my experience to less able players…’

Harry made an indistinct noise in his throat and then hurried off with Ron, Hermione, and John.

‘”Less able players” eh, Harry?’ John teased, cackling in amusement.

‘Ha ha, very funny,’ Harry said sarcastically.

Hermione pulled the note back out so the four of them could examine the signature.

‘I don’t believe it,’ Harry said, ‘he didn’t even _look_ at the book we wanted.’

‘That’s because he’s a brainless git,’ Ron said.

‘Who cares, we’ve got what we wanted,’ said John with a shrug.

‘He is _not_ a brainless git,’ said Hermione shrilly, as they half-ran towards the library.

‘Just because he said you were the best in the year…’

They met Castiel at the doors of the library and dropped their voices as they entered the muffled stillness. Sherlock was already inside, carrying a stack of newspaper. He looked up and stopped as he saw them.

‘What are you all doing in here?’ he asked, confused.

‘We got the note from Lockhart to get the potion book,’ John said, looking equally as confused.

‘Why? What potion are you brewing?’

John narrowed his eyes.

‘The Polyjuice Potion,’ he said slowly. Sherlock stared at him blankly for a moment.

‘Oh! Yes, of course.’

John picked up the newspaper on the top of the pile and read the headline.

‘Sherlock, you’ve picked up the same stack of newspapers _again,’_ he said, showing the headline to Sherlock. Sherlock took it out of his hands.

‘So I have,’ he said, putting the paper back on top of the pile and dumping it in their usual table.

Madam Pince, the school librarian, was a thin, harsh woman, who looked vaguely like an underfed vulture.

‘ _Moste Potente Potions?’_ she repeated suspiciously, trying to take the note from Hermione; but Hermione wouldn’t let go.

‘I was wondering if I could keep it,’ she said breathlessly, earning herself exasperated groans and tutting noises from Ron, Sherlock, and John.

‘Come on,’ Ron said, wrenching it from her grasp and thrusting it at Madam Pince. ‘We’ll get you another autograph. Lockhart’ll sign anything if it stands still long enough.’

Madam Pince held the note up to the light as though she was determined to find a forgery, but it passed the test. She stalked away between the lofty shelves and returned several minutes later with a large and mouldy-looking book. Hermione carefully put it away in her bag and they left, trying not to walk too quickly or look too guilty.

Five minutes later, they were barricaded in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom once again. Hermione had overridden Ron’s objections by pointing out that it was the last place anyone in their right mind would go, so they were guaranteed some privacy. Castiel, too, was uncomfortable with having to spend an extended amount of time in a girls’ bathroom, but he saw the logic in it and didn’t complain. Moaning Myrtle was crying in her cubicle, but they were ignoring her, and she them.

Hermione opened _Moste Potente Potions_ carefully, and she and Sherlock bent over the damp-spotted pages. Castiel took a glance at it, but looked horrified and disgusted by what he saw, so had to look away. From what he had seen, it was clear why it belonged in the Restricted Section. Some of the potions had effects almost too gruesome to think about, accompanied by some very unpleasant illustrations, which included a man who seemed to be turned inside out and a witch sprouting several extra pairs of arms out of her head.

‘Here it is,’ Hermione said excitedly, as she found the page headed _The Polyjuice Potion._ It was decorated with drawings of people half way through transforming into other people. They all sincerely hoped the artist had imagined the looks of intense pain on their faces.

‘This is the most complicated potion I’ve ever seen,’ Hermione said, scanning the recipe. ‘Lacewing flies, leeches, fluxweed, knotgrass…’

‘Well those are easy enough to get, they’re in the student store cupboard,’ Sherlock murmured. ‘These, however, may be slightly more difficult.’ He ran his finger down the page. ‘I’ve no idea where we’d get powdered horn of Bicorn or – what is this – shredded skin of Boomslang.’

‘Yes, and then we still have to get a bit of whoever we’re changing into,’ Hermione said thoughtfully.

‘Excuse me?’ Ron said sharply. ‘What d’you mean, a bit of whoever we’re changing into? I’m drinking _nothing_ with Crabbe’s toenails in it.’

‘We don’t have to worry about that yet, though, because we add those bits last…’

Harry had another worry.

‘D’you realise how much we’re going to steal? Shredded skin of Boomslang, that’s definitely not in the students’ cupboard. What’re we going to, break into Snape’s private stores?’

Sherlock looked up at him.

‘That is exactly what we’re going to do,’ he said.

‘I don’t know if this is a good idea….’

Hermione closed the book with a snap.

‘Well if you want to chicken out, fine,’ she said. ‘ _I_ don’t want to break the rules, you know. _I_ think that threatening Muggle-borns is far worse than brewing up a difficult potion. But if you don’t want to find out if it’s Malfoy, I’ll go straight to Madam Pince now and hand it back in.’

Sherlock smiled briefly.

‘I never thought I’d see the day you’d be convincing us to break the rules,’ Ron said. ‘All right, we’ll do it, but no toenails, okay?’

‘How long is this going to take, anyway?’ Harry asked.

‘Well, the fluxweed’s got to be picked at the full moon,’ Hermione said, reopening the book and squinting at it.

‘Yes, and the lacewings have to be stewed for twenty-one days… I make that about a month, what do you think?’ Sherlock said.

‘I’d say about that too, but that’s if we can get all the ingredients.’

‘A month?’ said Ron. ‘Malfoy could have attacked half the Muggle-borns in the school by then!’ Hermione’s eyes narrowed dangerously and he added swiftly, ‘but it’s the best plan we’ve got, so full steam ahead, I say.’

‘Wait a minute, a month?’ John said. ‘It’ll be the Christmas holidays; I won’t be here.’

‘Nor will I,’ Castiel said quietly.

‘We’ll just have to manage with the four of us, then,’ Hermione said.

‘It might look a little conspicuous with six of us questioning him, anyway,’ Sherlock pointed out.

‘We’ll still help out as much as we can, right, Castiel?’

‘Of course.’

While Hermione was checking the coast was clear for them to leave the bathroom, Ron muttered to Harry, ‘It’ll be a lot less hassle if you just knock Malfoy off his broom tomorrow.’

 

The next morning, John awoke and found the dormitory empty and he bolted out of bed to throw on some clothes. He ran down to the Great Hall, muttering to himself about being late. He hoped he hadn’t missed the start of the match. To his relief, everyone was still at breakfast. The Gryffindor team were huddled together at the table. Sherlock beckoned him over to where he was sitting with Ron, Hermione, and Castiel. As he went to them, he felt a wave of fatigue hit him and he sat down heavily.

‘All right?’ Sherlock asked.

‘Yeah,’ John said, rubbing his eyes. ‘Why didn’t anyone wake me up?’

Ron fidgeted in his seat.

‘Well, you looked like you could do with some sleep,’ he said.

‘What’s that supposed to mean? Was I sleepwalking again?’

‘The tea is leaving, we should go down to the pitch,’ Hermione said in an unnecessarily loud voice.

‘Er, right,’ Ron mumbled. He, Hermione, and Castiel stood up abruptly.

‘What’s going on?’ John asked Sherlock.

‘How should I know?’ he said, rising from his seat. John scowled, following them out of the Great Hall. They were definitely hiding something.

As they reached the pitch, they hurried to say good luck to Harry and then made their way to the stands.

‘We’re not likely to get any interruptions from Malfoy, seeing as he’s on the team,’ John said, picking a seat towards the back of the stands, near the stairs.

‘Just as long as Harry knocks the stuffing out of him, it’ll be worth it,’ said Ron.

They watched the Gryffindor team walk out onto the pitch and clapped and cheered with the rest of Gryffindor house along with Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, who were also eager to see Slytherin defeated. The Slytherins themselves made their boos and hisses heard. Even from this distance, Wood and the rest of the team looked confident. Madam Hooch made Wood and Flint shake hands and mount their brooms. On her whistle, the two teams sped upwards towards the grey clouds – Harry flying higher than the rest of them to look for the Snitch. Malfoy shot underneath Harry, showing off the speed of his new broom, as Harry was the only one not using a Nimbus Two Thousand and One. Harry, however, was not paying attention, as a heavy black Bludger pelted towards him. He just barely dodged it.

‘That was a close one,’ John commented, watching George Weasley streak after it. He knocked the Bludger back toward Adrian Pucey, but it changed direction and shot straight back at Harry. John squinted at it.

‘Well that can’t be right,’ he muttered as George hit it hard towards Malfoy and it swerved back towards Harry like a boomerang. He nudged Sherlock, who was watching the progress of the Quaffle, and pointed at the Bludger that was chasing Harry around the pitch.

‘That’s odd,’ Sherlock said. I continued to hurtle after Harry and heavy drops of rain began to fall from the sky. Lee Jordan, who was commentating, announced the score.

‘Gryffindor lead, sixty points to forty.’

Clearly the Gryffindors were more skilled on the new brooms. Meanwhile, the mad Bludger was doing all it could to knock Harry out of the air. By this point, Ron, Hermione, and Castiel had noticed it.

‘He won’t be able to catch the Snitch if they keep crowding around him like that,’ Ron muttered, watching Fred and George flying close to Harry.

‘ _Ron!’_ Hermione exclaimed, appalled.

‘What? The sooner he catches the Snitch, the sooner the game is over, right?’

‘Nice save,’ John muttered to him.

George frantically signalled Wood for a time out and as soon as Madam Hooch’s whistle rang out, the three of them dived for the ground.

John felt a shove from behind him and a small, stammering voice that said, ‘S-Sorry. Excuse me-‘

He looked around and saw a girl swathed in a Hufflepuff scarf and her hair tied in a ponytail.

‘Hi, Molly,’ he said. She squinted at him and her face lit up as she recognised him.

‘Hey, John,’ she grinned.

The Gryffindor team were huddled close together on the pitch.

‘That Bludger looks like it’s been tampered with,’ Molly observe as it continued to throw itself at Harry, even while they were on the ground.

‘That’s just what I was thinking,’ Sherlock said. Molly stared at him.

‘Oh! Right, sorry,’ John said. ‘Molly, this is Sherlock, and that’s Castiel.’

‘Nice to meet you,’ she said, stumbling to shake their hands.

Madam Hooch’s whistle sounded and the teams shot off to play once again. They watched as Harry began a series of spins, spirals, and rolls in an attempt to avoid the rogue Bludger. Laughter and jeers echoed around the stadium, as he did look rather silly. It was starting to get difficult to see through the rain and everyone in play turned into green and red blurs, until Malfoy slowed to a hover and made his blond hair visible. He seemed to be laughing at Harry, who was doing an odd twirl to avoid the Bludger. Harry also came to a standstill for a second to stare at Malfoy.

‘What’s he doing?’ Ron muttered.

He stayed still a moment too long and the five of them winced as the Bludger smashed painfully into Harry’s elbow.

A sympathetic whistle came from Castiel as the arm that had been hit dangled uselessly by Harry’s side.

‘Looks broken,’ he murmured.

And then Harry shot towards Malfoy.

‘What’s he attacking Malfoy for?’ John said.

‘He’s not. I think he’s see the Snitch,’ said Sherlock, leaning forward slightly. Malfoy rolled out of Harry’s way and Harry took his remaining hand off the handle of his broom. Only now he was gripping the broom with just his knees and ploughed straight into the ground. The crowd gasped and Lee Jordan shouted over them.

‘HARRY POTTER CATCHES THE SNITCH! GRYFFINDOR WINS! TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTY POINTS TO SIXTY!’ he announced to the crowd. The two teams landed, ending the game, and Castiel rose to his feet to hurry down on to the pitch. The rest of them followed.

‘See you, Molly,’ John sad hurriedly.

On the pitch, many other people were trying to push their way through to see if Harry was okay, but the rest of the team was keeping them back. Wood moved aside to let Castiel through, but Lockhart suddenly appeared and barged past him. With the rain and the Bludger still whizzing around, the curiosity of the crowd dwindled and they began to leave.

Harry appeared to be unconscious and Lockhart leaned over him, still smiling. Harry stirred and groaned softly, then saw Lockhart.

‘Oh no, not you,’ he moaned. Behind them, Fred and George dove on the Bludger and began trying to wrestle it into its box.

‘Doesn’t know what he’s saying,’ Lockhart said loudly to what was left of the crowd. Castiel knelt down beside him, took off his cloak and folded it carefully folded it under his head.

‘How do you feel?’ he asked quietly.

‘Well, my arm hurts.’

‘Aside from that,’ Castiel smiled.

‘Not to worry, Harry, I’ll have that fixed in no time,’ Lockhart interrupted.

‘ _No!’_ said Harry. ‘I’ll keep it like this, thanks…’

He tried to sit up, but Castiel put a hand against his chest.

‘Lie still, Harry,’ he said firmly. Lockhart continued talking.

‘Don’t you worry, it’s a simple charm I’ve used countless times.’

‘Why can’t I just go to the hospital wing? Or Castiel can do it, can’t you?’ Harry said through clenched teeth. Castiel shook his head.

‘That’s advanced magic. I can’t do it.’

‘He really should go to the hospital wing, Professor,’ said a muddy Wood, who couldn’t help grinning even though his Seeker was injured. ‘Great capture, Harry. Really spectacular. Your best yet, I’d say.’

The Bludger was still putting up a terrific fight against Fred and George, attempting to squirm out of their grasp and fly at Harry.

‘Stand back,’ said Lockhart, who was rolling up his jade-green sleeves.

‘No – don’t – ‘ Harry said weakly, but Lockhart was already twirling his wand and a second later had directed it straight at Harry’s arm.

Immediately, Castiel knew something was wrong. Harry’s arm looked as if it were deflating rather than healing. Castiel, and everyone that was watching, gasped when he was done. Harry’s arm now looked as if it were made entirely out of rubber.

‘Ah,’ said Lockhart. ‘Yes. Well, that can sometimes happen. But the point is, the bones are no longer broken. That’s the thing to bear in mind. So, Harry, just toddle up to the hospital wing – ah, Mr Edlund, would you escort him? – and Madam Pomfrey will be able to – er – tidy you up a bit.’

Castiel stared at Lockhart incredulously as he helped Harry to his feet. Lockhart hadn’t mended his bones. He’d removed them.

Madam Pomfrey was not at all pleased.

‘You should have come straight to me!’ she raged, holding up Harry’s limp, rubbery arm.

‘I apologise. I misjudged the situation,’ Castiel mumbled.

‘Nonsense, it’s not your fault,’ she said, dropping the arm. ‘Would you fetch me the Skele-Gro?’

‘Of course,’ he said, going to rummage through the potions cabinet.

Madam Pomfrey sighed.

‘I can mend bones in a second – but growing them back – ‘

‘You will be able to, won’t you?’ Harry said desperately.

‘I’ll be able to, certainly, but it will be painful,’ said Madam Pomfrey, throwing Harry a pair of pyjamas. ‘You’ll have to stay the night…’

 

Hermione, Sherlock, and John waited outside the curtain while Ron helped Harry into his pyjamas. John rubbed his temples absent-mindedly and caught Sherlock watching him. He shrugged, feeling a slight pressure building in his forehead. It was probably the cold.

‘How can you stick up for Lockhart now, eh, Hermione?’ Ron called through the curtain. ‘If Harry wanted de-boning, he would have asked.’

‘Anyone can make a mistake,’ said Hermione, ‘and it doesn’t hurt anymore, does it, Harry?’

‘No, but it doesn’t do anything else, either.’

Madam Pomfrey returned with a large bottle of Skele-Gro and Castiel with his arms full of extra bedding.

‘You’re in for a rough night,’ Madam Pomfrey said, pouring a steaming beaker full of potion and handing it to him. ‘Regrowing bones is a nasty business.’

While Harry choked down the foul tasting potion, Castiel put some extra pillows and blankets on Harry’s bed, making sure there was a soft place for him to rest his arm.

‘It’s best if you stay warm,’ he said, drawing a goblet out of the bedside cabinet and pouring Harry a cup of water. Madam Pomfrey walked away muttering about dangerous sports and inept teachers.

‘We won, though,’ said Ron, a grin breaking across his face. ‘That was some catch you made. Malfoy’s face… he looked ready to kill.’

‘I want to know how he fixed that Bludger,’ said John darkly.

‘I really don’t think he did,’ Sherlock said thoughtfully. ‘It takes very strong magic to interfere with the charms on Quidditch balls. Even if the thought had occurred to him, he wouldn’t have been able to do it.’

‘We can add it to the list of questions we’ll ask him when we’ve taken the Polyjuice Potion,’ Harry said, sinking back onto his stack of pillows. ‘I hope it tastes better than this stuff…’

‘If it’s got bits of Slytherins in it? You’ve got to be joking,’ said Ron.

At that moment, the door burst open and six people, filthy and soaking wet, walked in. The rest of the Gryffindor team had come to see Harry.

‘Unbelievable flying, Harry,’ said George. ‘I’ve just seen Marcus Flint yelling at Malfoy. Something about having the Snitch on his head and not noticing. Malfoy didn’t seem too happy.’

They had brought cakes, sweets, and bottles of pumpkin juice. They gathered around Harry’s bed and were just getting started on what promised to be a good party when Madam Pomfrey came storming over, saying ‘This boy needs rest, he’s got thirty-three bones to regrow! Out! OUT!’

And Harry was left with a silent Castiel and nothing to distract him from the stabbing pains in his limp arm.

 

Hours and hours later, Harry awoke, quite suddenly, in the dark. His arm now felt as if it were full of splinters and at first, it was this he thought had woken him up. The he realised that someone was sponging his forehead in the dark.

‘Get off!’ he said loudly, realising it wasn’t Castiel at the sound of the quiet, sad sniffles from the sponger. The sound bounced around the room and Harry heard a soft thump and a patter of bare feet. Castiel appeared at the end of the bed, holding a large, heavy-looking bottle high. He was in his pyjamas, which made him look smaller than usual.

‘It’s all right!’ Harry said quickly. ‘It’s just Dobby.’

‘Dobby?’ he repeated. ‘The _House-elf?_ The one that broke into your room?’

‘That’s the one. Dobby, what are you doing here?’

Castiel put the bottle down and sat cross-legged on the end of the bed. He stared at the back of Dobby’s head, intrigued.

Dobby’s bat-like ears flapped as he sniffed again.

‘Harry Potter came back to school,’ he whispered miserably. ‘Dobby warned and warned Harry Potter. Ah, sir, why didn’t you heed Dobby? Why didn’t Harry Potter go back home when he missed the train?’

Harry pushed himself up on his pillows.

‘How do you know I missed the train?’

Dobby’s lips trembled.

‘It was _you?’_ he said slowly. ‘ _You_ stopped the barrier letting us through!’

‘Indeed, yes, sir,’ said Dobby, nodding his head vigorously. ‘Dobby hid and watched for Harry Potter and sealed the gateway. Dobby had to iron his hands afterwards-‘ he showed them ten, long, bandaged fingers, ‘ – but Dobby didn’t care, sir, for he thought Harry Potter was safe, and _never_ did Dobby dream that Harry Potter would get to school another way!’

Castiel took hold of Dobby’s bandaged hands.

‘Would you let me heal these?’ he asked. Dobby looked at him incredulously and his large, tennis ball eyes welled up.

‘Oh, no, sir,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Dobby was bad, so Dobby must be punished.’

Castiel bit his lip.

‘You are truly kind, sir. House-elves are never healed by wizards. But Dobby knows that Harry Potter is great, so his friends must be too.’

Dobby turned back to Harry.

‘Dobby was so shocked when he heard Harry Potter was back at Hogwarts, he let his master’s dinner burn! Such a flogging Dobby never had, sir…’

Harry slumped back on his pillows and Castiel rubbed his arm uncomfortably.

‘You nearly got Ron and me expelled,’ Harry said fiercely. ‘You’d better clear off before my bones grow back, Dobby, or I might strangle you.’

‘Is that necessary, Harry?’ Castiel frowned.

‘Dobby is used to death threats, sir. Dobby gets them five times a day at home.’

Castiel looked down at his lap.

‘Are you all right?’ Harry said to him.

‘I’m fine.’

Dobby blew his nose on a corner of the filthy pillowcase he wore.

‘Why d’you wear that thing, Dobby?’ Harry asked curiously.

‘This, sir?’ said Dobby, plucking at his pillowcase. ‘’Tis a mark of the house-elf’s enslavement, sir. Dobby can only be freed if his masters present him with clothes, sir. The family is careful not to pass Dobby even a sock, sir, for then he would be free to leave their house forever.’

Dobby mopped his bulging eyes and said suddenly, ‘Harry Potter _must_ go home! Dobby thought his Bludger would be enough to make-‘

 

‘ _Your_ Bludger?’ Harry said. ‘What d’you mean, _your_ Bludger? _You_ made that Bludger try and kill me?’

‘Not kill you, sir, never kill you!’ said Dobby, shocked. ‘Dobby wants to save Harry Potter’s life! Better sent home grievously, injured, than remain here, sir! Dobby only wanted Harry Potter hurt enough to be sent home!’

‘Oh, is that all?’ Harry said angrily. ‘I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me _why_ you wanted me sent home in pieces?’

‘Ah, if Harry Potter only knew!’ Dobby groaned, tears dripping onto his ragged pillowcase. ‘If he knew what he means to us, to the lowly, the enslaved, us dregs of the magical world! Dobby remembers how it was when He Who Must Not Be Named was at the height of his powers, sir! We house-elves were treated like vermin, sir! Of course, Dobby is still treated like that, sir,’ he admitted, drying his face on the pillowcase. ‘But mostly, sir, life has improved for my kind after you triumphed over He Who Must Not Be Named. Harry Potter survived, and the Dark Lord’s power was broken, and it was a new dawn, sir. Harry Potter shone like a beacon of hope for those of us who thought the dark days would never end, sir… And now, at Hogwarts, terrible things are to happen – are perhaps already happening – and Dobby cannot let Harry Potter stay here now that history is to repeat itself, now that the Chamber of Secrets is open once more-‘

Castiel’s head snapped up and both he and Harry stared at Dobby in shock. Dobby froze, then grabbed Harry’s water jug from his bedside table and cracked it over his own head, toppling out of sight. A second later, he crawled back onto the bed, cross-eyed, muttering, ‘Bad Dobby, very bad Dobby…’

‘So there _is_ a Chamber of Secrets?’ Harry whispered. ‘And – did you say it’s been opened _before? Tell_ me, Dobby!’

Castiel grabbed Dobby’s wrist, seeing it inch towards the water jug again.

‘But I’m not a Muggle-born – how can I be in danger from the Chamber?’ Harry said.

‘Ah, sir, ask no more of poor Dobby,’ stammered the elf. ‘Dark deeds are planned in this place, but Harry Potter must not be here when they happen. Go home, Harry Potter. Go home. Harry Potter must not meddle, sir, it’s too dangerous-‘

‘Who is it, Dobby?’ Harry said.

Castiel tightened his grip on the elf’s wrist as it tried to jerk out of his grip towards the water jug.

‘Who’s opened? Who opened it last time?’ Harry pressed.

‘Dobby can’t, sir, Dobby can’t, Dobby mustn’t tell!’ Dobby squealed. ‘Go home, Harry Potter, go home!’

‘I’m not going anywhere!’ Harry said fiercely. ‘Two of my best friends are Muggle-born, they’ll be first in line if the Chamber really has been opened-‘

‘Harry Potter risks his own life for his friends!’ moaned Dobby. ‘So noble! So valiant! But he must save himself, he must, Harry Potter must not-‘

Dobby suddenly froze, his bat ears quivering. Harry and Castiel heard it too. There were footsteps coming down the passageway outside.

‘Dobby must go!’ breathed the elf. There was a loud crack and Castiel’s fist closed around thin air, and then he was moving. The footsteps were close and Castiel knew he would not be able to get back to his bed in time, so, quick as a shot, he grabbed the water jug and went to the sink to fill it. The tap went on and a moment later, Dumbledore was backing into the room wearing a long woolly dressing gown and a nightcap. He was carrying one end of what looked like a statue. Professor McGonagall appeared a second later, carrying its feet. Together, they heaved it onto a bed.

‘Get Madam Pomfrey,’ Dumbledore whispered to Castiel, who was staring at the statue, wide-eyed and pale. He tore himself away, turning off the tap and leaving the jug in the sink, and hurried off past the end of Harry’s bed. Harry heard Castiel and Madam Pomfrey talking in urgent voices; and then they reappeared Madam Pomfrey pulling a cardigan over her nightdress.

‘What happened?’ Madam Pomfrey gasped as she bent over the statue.

‘Another attack,’ said Dumbledore. ‘Minerva found him on the stairs.’

Castiel flitted around them nervously, fluffing pillows and straightening covers until Madam Pomfrey laid a hand on his shoulder and motioned for him to go back to bed. He took one more look at the statue and reluctantly walked away.

‘There was a bunch of grapes next to him,’ continued Professor McGonagall. ‘We think he was trying to sneak up here to visit Potter.’

Castiel, who had hidden behind a curtain instead of going to bed, frowned, knowing full well that Harry would blame himself now that they had said that. He was also beginning to think that it might not be such a bad idea for Harry to go home. The sight of Colin Creevey’s Petrified body gave him the uneasy feeling that this was way bigger and more dangerous than they had originally imagined. Certainly it was beyond Malfoy’s petty grudge, but he couldn’t be sure.

Dumbledore leaned forward and prised a camera from Colin’s stiff fingers.

‘You don’t think he managed to get a picture of his attacker?’ Professor McGonagall said eagerly.

Dumbledore didn’t answer, he just pulled open the back of the camera.

‘Good gracious!’ exclaimed Madam Pomfrey.

A jet of steam hissed out of the camera, along with the acrid smell of burnt plastic.

‘Melted,’ said Madam Pomfrey, ‘all melted.’

‘What does this _mean_ , Albus?’ Professor McGonagall asked urgently.

‘It means,’ said Dumbledore, ‘that the Chamber of Secrets is indeed open again.’

Madam Pomfrey clapped a hand to her mouth.

‘But, Albus… surely… _who?’_

_‘_ The question is not _who?_ The question is, _how_ …’

Castiel quietly lay down on a bed, not quite willing to believe what he had just heard. If Dumbledore couldn’t figure it out, who could?


	8. The Duelling Club

The Duelling Club

Castiel awoke early on Sunday morning. He quickly dressed and checked on Harry. He was still sleeping with his arm lying stiffly beside him. Careful not to wake Harry up, he felt up and down the arm to make sure all the bones had re-grown properly. Everything seemed to be there. He then went over to Colin and raised the high curtains to stop curious people from spying on him. Once he was satisfied that everything in the ward was just as it should be, ready for Madam Pomfrey, he walked down to the Great Hall for breakfast, meeting Ron, Hermione and John on the stairs. As soon as he saw them he told them about what had happened the night before.

‘We should start on the potion,’ Hermione said in a hushed voice.

‘Good idea,’ John agreed. ‘The sooner we get it done the better.’

Castiel glanced at him, astounded by how calm both he and Hermione were. It was well known that they were both Muggle-born, and if by some chance it was Malfoy behind the attacks they would be huge targets.

They rushed through their breakfast and hurried down to the dungeons. Hermione pulled out a small piece of paper once they reached the store cupboard. She ticked off the ingredients as she loaded her bag – and some of John’s – with little paper packets. They may be allowed to help themselves to the store cupboard, but it was still best not to let Snape catch them taking so much or he might ask unwanted questions.

‘I’ll have to weigh these later and then bring back any spare,’ Hermione muttered as she stuffed the last packet into John’s bag.

‘Where exactly are we going with this, Hermione?’ Ron asked as the surfaced in the Entrance Hall. ‘It’s not like we can set up in the common room.’

‘I know just the place.’

 

‘You’ve got to be joking!’ Ron exclaimed.

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, Ron!’ Hermione shot back.

‘They’ll catch us in a week!’

‘I seriously doubt it.’

Hermione pushed open the door to Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom, the ‘Out of Order’ sign still hung on it. John shrugged and followed, Castiel dithered for a moment before following suit and Ron shook his head incredulously.

Hermione was already kneeling in a cubicle next to John, who was handing her the packets out of his bag.

‘You already brought your cauldron?’ Ron asked, looking at the cauldron perched on top of the toilet.

‘No, this is a school one. It might look weird if I turn up to Potions without my cauldron when it was perfectly fine last lesson,’ she explained, poking her wand in the gap under the cauldron stand, creating the waterproof flames that she was so good at.

Over the next hour or so, Hermione worked on the potion, directing Ron and John around while Castiel stayed back, staring into space. He was slowly working together the pieces of the puzzle, but no matter what angle he spun it on, he couldn’t help feeling that he was missing something – besides what the monster of Slytherin was.

The four of them jumped out of their skin when they heard a voice call through the door.

‘It’s just me.’

Hermione gasped and dropped her spoon.

‘ _Harry,’_ she said. ‘You gave us such a fright. Come in – how’s your arm?’

‘Fine,’ Harry said, walking over to stand next to Castiel. He peered into the cubicle at the cauldron.

‘We’d’ve come to meet you, but we decided to get started on the potion,’ Ron explained to him. ‘Castiel told us what happened last night and we thought that the sooner we get a confession out of Malfoy, the better.’

Castiel pressed his lips together and shook his head slightly.

‘What?’ Ron said, catching the movement. ‘You don’t think it’s Malfoy?’

‘I was thinking… about what Dobby said last night. He called You Know Who ‘The Dark Lord’.’

‘Yeah, so?’ said Ron.

‘Well, I’ve only ever heard his followers call him that.’

‘Are you trying to tell me that you think _Dobby_ is one of You Know Who’s followers?’

‘No, but I think that whoever his master is might be. I also think that whatever’s going on here might have something to do with You Know Who.’

The others considered it.

‘I don’t see him being in any house but Slytherin,’ Hermione said thoughtfully, ‘but how could he possibly have anything to do with this after Harry defeated him?’

‘Perhaps he’s not involved personally. I think that one of his followers is up to something,’ Castiel said. ‘I think that the Malfoys used to be some of his followers.’

‘We’ll make sure to ask him about that when we question him. We can’t just go around accusing people of being in with You Know Who,’ Hermione said reasonably.

‘That’s true.’

John stood up suddenly and looked around the room.

‘Where’s Sherlock?’

The other four looked around too, as if expecting him to emerge from under a sink or jump out from behind a door.

‘I thought it was a bit quiet,’ Ron said,

‘He’s probably just in the library or something. I’ll go find him in a bit…’

‘The only thing I can’t figure out is what exactly the monster of Slytherin is and how no one’s noticed it,’ said Hermione. ‘Wish Dobby had told you what it is.’

‘Really? That’s the _only_ thing?’ Ron said, raising an eyebrow.

‘Maybe it can make itself invisible,’ Hermione continued, ignoring him. ‘Or maybe it can disguise itself – pretend to be a suit of armour. I’ve read about Chameleon Ghouls…’

‘You read too much, Hermione,’ Ron said, passing her a packet of dead lacewing flies. She passed him back some empty bags, which he crumpled up in his hands.

‘So Dobby stopped us getting on the train and broke your arm…’ he shook his head. ‘You know what, Harry? If he doesn’t stop trying to save your life, he’s going to kill you.’

 

In the second week of December Professor McGonagall came around, collecting the names of the people that would be staying at Hogwarts over the Christmas holidays. Harry, Ron, Hermione and Sherlock all signed her list after hearing that Malfoy was staying, which struck them as suspicious. The holidays would be the perfect time to question him.

Unfortunately, the potion was only half done. They still needed the Bicorn horn and the Boomslang skin, which were safely tucked away in Snape’s private store.

‘What we need,’ Hermione said brightly, ‘is a diversion. Then one of us can sneak into Snape’s offie and take what we need.’

‘I believe I can help with that,’ Castiel told her. ‘Gabriel will have something we can use.’

‘He won’t mind?’

‘No, not at all.’

Hermione thought for a moment.

‘I think I’d better do the actual stealing,’ she said in a matter-of-fact tone. ‘You three will be expelled if you get in any more trouble and, frankly, John, you’ve been very distracted lately and you won’t be quick enough.’

John looked rather relieved at not being asked to steal anything from Snape.

‘So all you need to do is cause enough mayhem to keep Snape busy for five minutes or so.’

John frowned and sighed. Hermione was right, he had been distracted, but he couldn’t pinpoint why. That, and Sherlock was missing again.

Potions lessons took place in one of the larger dungeons on Thursday afternoons. Twenty cauldrons stood steaming between the wooden desks, on which sets of brass scales and jars of ingredients. Snape prowled through the fumes, making waspish comments on the Gryffindors’ work while the Slytherins sniggered appreciatively.

John prodded at his Swelling Solution with a stirring rod. He was fairly certain that it wasn’t supposed to be lumpy, but he had his mind on other things.

That morning before lessons, Castiel shoved a Filibuster firework into both his and Harry’s hands. Later that day, a very confused Gabriel would find them missing from his bag, along with a not saying,

_I borrowed your fireworks._

_Need them for a project._

_Sorry if you need them for something._

_Castiel_

Harry and John waited for Hermione’s signal, hardly listening as Snape paused to sneer at their potions. When Snape turned and walked off to bully Neville, Hermione caught Harry’s eye and nodded. Harry then nudged John. They both ducked behind their cauldrons to light them. John prodded his with his wand and it began to fizz in his hand. He quickly straightened up, took aim and threw it across the dungeon. It landed right on target in a Slytherin’s cauldron – the opposite end of the room from Harry’s, which had landed square in Goyle’s cauldron.

Both cauldrons exploded. Showering the class with Swelling Solution. People shrieked as splashes of the potion hit various body parts. Malfoy got a whole face full and his nose began to swell like a balloon. During the chaos, Hermione slipped out of the door.

‘Silence! SILENCE!’ Snape roared. ‘Anyone who has been splashed, come here for the Deflating Draft. When I find out who did this…’

John stifled laughter behind his hand as Malfoy hurried forward, his head drooping from the weight of his, now melon-sized, nose. Half the class stumbled up to Snape’s desk with arms like clubs or giant, puffed-up lips and Hermione slid back into the dungeon, the front of her robes bulging.

When everyone had taken a swig of the antidote and the swellings had subsided, Snape swept over to Goyle’s cauldron and scooped out the twisted remains of the firework He then did the same with the cauldron John had hit. He held up one firework in each hand and there was a sudden hush.

‘If I ever find out who threw these,’ Snape whispered, ‘I shall _personally_ make sure they are expelled.’

The bell rang ten minutes later and it could not have been more welcome.

‘He knew it was me,’ Harry told them as they hurried back to Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom. ‘I could tell.’

Hermione threw the ingredients in the cauldron and began to stir feverishly. Castiel slipped into the room behind them.

‘Did you get them?’ he asked quietly.

‘Yeah,’ John said, looking up. ‘Sherlock with you?’

Castiel looked over his shoulder and frowned.

‘He was here a moment ago….’

‘It’ll be ready in a fortnight,’ Hermione declared happily from the cubicle.

‘Snape can’t prove it was you,’ Ron said reassuringly to Harry. ‘What can he do?’

‘Knowing Snape, something awful,’ said Harry, as the potion frothed and bubbled.

 

A week later, John was hurrying across the Entrance Hall adjusting his robes. He’d overslept and was afraid he’d missed breakfast. Half way across he noticed a figure hanging around the notice board. He recognised it as Sherlock and went over to him. He was staring at the notices blankly, as if in a trance.

‘Sherlock?’ he said tentatively. Sherlock didn’t react but to twitch his hands in an odd way and vaguely say, ‘Happy Birthday.’

‘What? Sherlock-‘

Then he seemed to snap out of it and pointed at a new notice on the board.

‘Duelling club,’ he said. ‘First meeting’s tonight. Could come in handy.’

John made a face.

‘Because the monster of Slytherin can duel?’ he said sceptically.

‘Well, that and other things,’ Sherlock said, a faint smile on his lips.

‘Do you want to go?’

‘Well, everyone else is going.’

‘Since when do you care what everyone else is doing?’

Sherlock shrugged and John narrowed his eyes. The bell rang and he groaned.

‘Oh well. Didn’t need breakfast anyway.’

Eight o’clock that evening, John was back outside the Great Hall, where he met Sherlock and a very uncomfortable-looking Castiel. Evidently he was regretting allowing himself, once again, to be talked into something he didn’t want to do by Sherlock. Once inside they found Harry, Ron and Hermione already there. The long house tables had disappeared and were replaced by a golden stage that was illuminated by thousands of flickering candles. Most of the school was packed into the room, carrying their wands and looking excited.

‘I wonder who’ll be teaching us,’ Hermione said as they edged forward in the crowd. ‘Someone told me that Flitwick was a duelling champion when he was young, maybe it’ll be him.’

‘As long as it’s not-‘ Harry began, but ended with a groan.

Gilderoy Lockhart was walking onto the stage, resplendent in robes of deep plumb and accompanied by none other than Snape.

Lockhart waved a hand for silence and called, ‘Gather round! Gather round! Can you all see me? Can you all hear me? Excellent!

‘Professor Dumbledore as given me permission to start this little Duelling Club to prepare you, in case you ever need to defend yourself, as I have on countless occasions – for details see my published works.’

‘Did you find anything on him yet?’ John murmured to Sherlock.

‘What?’ Sherlock said, mystified.

‘On Lockhart. Did you find anything?’

‘Oh…no.’

‘Let me introduce my assistant, Professor Snape,’ Lockhart continued, flashing a bright smile, ‘who has sportingly agreed to help me give you a little demonstration. He tells me he knows a tiny bit about duelling himself. Now, I don’t want you all to go worrying, you’ll still have your Potions Master when I’m through with him, never fear!’

‘Wouldn’t it be good if they finished each other off?’ Ron muttered.

Lockhart and Snape turned to face each other and bowed, with much twirling of hands on Lockhart’s part. Then they raised their wands like swords in front of them.

‘As you see, we are holding our wands in the accepted combative position,’ Lockhart told the silent crowd. ‘On the count of three, we will cast our first spells. Neither of us will aim to kill of course.’

‘I wouldn’t bet on that,’ Harry muttered.

‘One – two – three – ‘

Both of them swung their wands over their shoulders. Snape cried, ‘ _Expelliarmus!’_ There was a dazzling flash of scarlet light and Lockhart was blasted off his feet. He flew backwards off the stage, smashed into a wall and slid down it to sprawl on the floor. Castiel automatically darted forward, but didn’t get very far. There were too many people in the way and someone stood on the hem of his coat.

‘Do you think he’s all right?’ Hermione squeaked.

‘Who cares?’ Harry and Ron said in unison.

‘I’m sure he’s fine though,’ John said loudly. ‘He says he’s had worse in his books.’

Lockhart staggered to his feet. His hat had fallen off and his thick golden curls were standing on end.

‘Well, there you have it!’ he said, tottering back onto the platform. ‘That was a Disarming Charm – as you see, I’ve lost my wand – ah, thank you Miss Brown. Yes, an excellent idea to show them that, Professor Snape, but if you don’t mind me saying so, it was very obvious what you were about to do. If I had wanted to stop you it would have been only too easy. However, I felt it instructive to let them see…’

Snape was looking murderous. Lockhart could possibly have noticed because he said, ‘Enough demonstrating! I’m going to come amongst you now and put you all into pairs. Professor Snape, if you’d like to help me…’

They moved through the crowd matching up pairs. Lockhart paired Neville with Justin Finch-Fletchley and approached John and Castiel.

‘I think it may be more educational if you’re paired with someone you don’t normally work with, so, er, Watson, you can go with Miss Hooper over here.’

He gently nudged John towards Molly and considered Castiel for a moment. He opened his mouth and Gabriel appeared behind him.

‘I’ll go with him, Professor,’ he smiled.

‘That sounds like an excellent idea,’ Lockhart said and he walked off. Unfortunately, Snape had got to the others first, and Harry, Ron and Hermione had all been paired with Slytherins. John looked around for Sherlock and saw him standing opposite someone familiar. His stomach lurched as he looked into the face of Moriarty, the first-year he’d seen at the Sorting Ceremony. Something on his face must have shown because Molly was suddenly looking at him in concern.

‘John, are you okay?’ she asked. ‘You’ve gone sort of pale.’

He tore his gaze from Sherlock and Moriarty to smile at her.

‘Yeah, fine.’

‘Face your partners!’ called Lockhart, back on the platform, ‘and bow!’

Castiel and Gabriel bowed to each other. Castiel had visibly relaxed since Gabriel arrived.

‘Wands at the ready!’ Lockhart shouted. ‘When I count to three, cast your charms to disarm your opponent – _only_ to disarm them – we don’t want any accident. One – two – three – ‘

Gabriel didn’t move, instead allowing Castiel to assume a look of concentration, aim his wand and say, ‘ _Expelliarmus!’_

It was a weak spell, but it was enough. It hit him in the chest and his wand flicked out of his hand and fell to the ground. He grinned at Castiel and picked his wand up.

‘All right, that was really good,’ he said. ‘Now try it again, but this time harder. You gotta be more confident with it.’

‘But- but I don’t want to hurt you,’ Castiel frowned.

‘You won’t hurt me it’s a disarming spell,’ Gabriel reassured him. ‘Come on, do it. Come at me, bro.’

Castiel smiled weakly, then drew himself up and aimed again.

‘ _Expelliarmus!’_

This time, the spell shot at him and hit him hard. He flew across the room and landed on his back. Castiel rushed over to him, looking panicked.

‘Gabriel, are you all right?’ he gasped.

‘Whoa! That was _awesome!’_ he said, sitting up. ‘You totally got me!’

‘W-what?’

‘Man, that was cool. Where’s my wand?’

Castiel handed it to him, still looking worried.

‘ _I said disarm only!’_ they heard Lockhart shout in alarm.

They looked around and saw that it hadn’t gone quite as Lockhart had planned. First they saw Sherlock kneeling beside Moriarty who was locked in the Full Body-Bind. In another direction, Malfoy was also lying on the ground and Harry was doing what looked like some sort of dance.

‘Stop! Stop!’ Lockhart screamed, but Snape took charge.

‘ _Finite Incantatem!’_ he shouted. All around the room, spells stopped and the greenish haze caused by Ron’s malfunctioning wand began to dissipate. However Hermione and her partner – Millicent Bulstrode – were still moving. Millicent had Hermione in a headlock, their wands lying forgotten on the ground, and Hermione desperately trying to break free. Harry and Ron leapt to pull her off, which was difficult as she was a lot bigger than they were. Gabriel looked at her with distaste, badly wanting to give her a detention but couldn’t with Snape watching.

‘Dear, dear,’ said Lockhart, skittering through the crowd looking at the aftermath of the chaos. Castiel darted among them, patching up what injuries he could.

‘Up you get, Macmillan… careful there, Miss Fawcett… pinch it hard, it’ll stop bleeding in a second…’

‘I think I’d better teach you how to _block_ unfriendly spells,’ said Lockhart, standing flustered in the midst of the hall. He glanced at Snape, whose black eyes glinted, and quickly looked away. ‘Let’s have a volunteer pair – Longbottom and Finch-Fletchley, how about you?’

‘A bad idea, Professor Lockhart,’ said Snape gliding over like a large, malevolent bat. ‘Longbottom causes devastation with the simplest spells. We’ll be sending what’s left of Finch-Fletchley to the hospital wing in a matchbox. How about Malfoy and Potter?’ he said with a twisted smile.

‘We’ll do it, Professor,’ John called out. Molly nodded her head fervently.

‘That’s all right, Watson, Malfoy and Potter will do nicely.’

‘Sorry,’ John muttered to Harry as he passed. The crowd backed away to give them room.

‘Now, Harry,’ said Lockhart, ‘When Draco points his wand at you, you do _this.’_

He raised his own wand, attempted a sort of wiggling action and dropped it. A few people sniggered as Lockhart quickly picked it up, saying, ‘Whoops – my wand is a little over-excited.’

Snape moved closer to Malfoy, bent down and whispered something in his ear.

Sherlock came up behind John, tucking something away in his robes.

‘This ought to be interesting,’ he murmured.

‘I’m not sure ‘interesting’ is the right word,’ John whispered back.

‘Just do what I did, Harry!’ Lockhart said merrily.

‘What, drop my wand?’

But Lockhart wasn’t listening.

‘One – two – three – go!’ he shouted.

Malfoy raised his wand and quickly bellowed, ‘ _Serpensortia!’_

The end of his wand exploded and John’s mouth dropped open as a long black snake shot out of it. It fell heavily on the floor between Harry and Malfoy and raised itself, ready to strike. There were several screams and the crowd swiftly backed away, except Sherlock and Castiel, who both stepped forward, intrigued by the snake.

‘Don’t move, Potter, I’ll get rid of it for you,’ said Snape, clearly enjoying the sight of Harry standing motionless, eye to eye with the angry snake.

‘Allow me!’ shouted Lockhart. He brandished his wand at the snake and there was a loud bang; the snake, instead of vanishing, flew two feet in the air and fell back to the floor with a loud smack. Enraged, hissing furiously, it slithered straight towards Justin Finch-Fletchley and raised itself again, fangs exposed.

Suddenly, Harry was running straight towards the snake and, before John could stop him, he was right by it, making odd, strangulated hissing noises. John made a face, had he lost his mind? He turned to Sherlock to point this out, but the words died in his throat. He had never seen Sherlock so visibly shocked. He wasn’t the only one either. He saw similar expressions on Ron, Hermione, Castiel and even Gabriel’s faces.

‘What do you think you’re playing at?’ Justin shouted.

John flinched, sure that the shouting would aggravate the snake, but when he looked it was sitting laying calmly on the ground. Without waiting for an answer, Justin stormed from the room.

Snape stepped forward, waved his wand and the snake vanished in a puff of smoke. An ominous muttering file the room and Ron moved towards Harry and tugged on the back of his robes. He steered him out of the Hall, followed by Hermione, Sherlock and John, passing Castiel who appeared to be quietly arguing with Gabriel.

Ron dragged them all the way up to Gryffindor tower. He didn’t offer any sort of explanation, nor did Hermione or Sherlock until they were in the empty common room. Ron pushed Harry into an armchair and said, ‘You’re a Parselmouth. Why didn’t you tell us?’

‘A what?’ Harry and John said together.

‘A _Parselmouth!’_ said Ron. ‘You can talk to snakes!’

‘I know,’ said Harry. ‘I mean, that’s only the second time I’ve ever done it. I accidentally set a boa constrictor on my cousin at the zoo once – long story – but it was telling me it had never been to Brazil and I sort of set it free without meaning to. That was before I knew I was a wizard…’

‘A boa constrictor told you it had never been to Brazil?’ Ron repeated faintly.

John burst into laughter, but the looks on the others’ faces were far from amused.

‘What? That’s funny,’ he said defensively.

‘I bet loads of people here can do it,’ Harry shrugged.

‘Oh no they can’t,’ said Ron. ‘It’s not a very common gift. Harry, this is bad.’

‘What’s bad?’ Harry said, starting to get angry. ‘What’s wrong with everyone? Listen, if I hadn’t told that snake not to attack Justin-‘

‘Oh, that’s what you said to it?’

‘What d’you mean? You were there… you heard me.’

‘I heard you speaking Parseltongue,’ said Ron, ‘snake language. You could have been saying anything. No wonder Justin panicked, you sounded like you were egging it on or something. It was creepy, you know.’

Harry gaped at him

‘Okay, yeah, it was a bit weird,’ John conceded, ‘but anyone who would actually believe Harry would set a snake on them has got to be off their rocker anyway.’

‘I spoke a different language?’ said Harry. ‘But – I didn’t realise – how can I speak a different language without knowing I can speak it?’

Ron shook his head. Both he and Hermione were looking as though someone had died, and Sherlock was refusing to even look at him.

‘D’you want to tell me what’s wrong with stopping a dirty great snake biting Justin’s head off?’ Harry said heatedly. ‘What does it matter _how_ I did it as long as Justin doesn’t have to join the Headless Hunt?’

‘Being able to talk to snakes was what Salazar Slytherin was famous for,’ Sherlock murmured as Castiel slipped through the portrait hole. ‘That’s why the symbol of Slytherin is a serpent.’

Harry and John’s mouths fell open.

‘Exactly,’ said Ron. ‘And now the whole school’s going to think you’re his great-great-great-great-grandson or something…’

‘But I’m not,’ Harry said.

‘You’ll find that hard to prove,’ said Hermione. ‘He lived about a thousand years ago; for all we know, you could be.’

John glanced at Sherlock and was annoyed to see him looking at Harry suspiciously.

‘Oh, come off it,’ he said loudly, making them all jump. ‘You don’t _actually_ think Harry’s the heir of Slytherin, do you?’

Castiel shook his head slightly, but no one else moved.

‘That’s just about as likely as it being Malfoy,’ John grumbled.

 

By the next morning the snow that had begun in the night had turned into a blizzard so thick that the last Herbology lesson of the term had been cancelled. Professor Sprout wanted to fit socks and scarves on the Mandrakes, a tricky operation that she would entrust to no one else now that it was so important for them to grow quickly and revive Mrs Norris and Colin Creevey.

Overnight, John had also managed to develop an awful flu and spent the day shivering uncontrollably by the fire. Too ill to sleep and too ill to do much else, all he could do was watch Harry fret about Justin during their free period. Castiel had already been up to see him and take his temperature and give him several different potions on Madam Pomfrey’s orders, but none of them seemed to be working as they should. Castiel gave him one to prevent it from spreading.

‘I really don’t know where this has come from,’ said Castiel. ‘I haven’t seen anyone else with it.’

He fetched an extra duvet from the dormitory and dumped it on John.

‘Maybe you caught it from Sherlock and that’s why I haven’t seen him all day.’

‘You haven’t?’ John coraked.

‘No, but it’s the last day of term. I would have been more surprise if he had shown up. I wouldn’t worry about him too much.’

‘Mmm.’

A couple of hours later and nothing from Sherlock, Ron and Hermione were playing a game of wizard chess. John stretched his legs out and sat up straight, trying to coax some energy into his body.

‘You really ought to go to the hospital wing,’ Hermione said without looking up.

‘I w-w-was ju-st ab-b-bout to,’ he chattered. The tension in his jaw caused by his shivering was starting to give him a headache.

Harry fidgeted in the chair next to him irritating Hermione who was trying to concentrate.

‘For heaven’s sake, Harry,’ she said, exasperated as one of Ron’s bishops wrestled her knight off his horse and dragged him off the board. ‘Go and find Justin if it’s so important to you.’

So Harry got up to leave and John rose unsteadily to his feet wrapping the duvet tightly around himself.

‘H-h-hang on, w-wait f-f-for me,’ he said.

The castle was darker than usual because of the swiring grey snow at every window.

‘M-maybe we should check th-the library,’ John mumbled.

‘Aren’t you meant to be in the hospital wing?’ Harry said.

John shrugged.

‘J-just want to s-s-see if Sh-Sherlock’s there.’

They eventually made it to the library where a group of Hufflepuffs were sat at a table near the back, but they didn’t seem to be doing any work. Harry and John could see their heads through the booshelves and they were having what looked like an absorbing conversation, but they couldn’t tell if Justin was with them.

John wasn’t feeling particularly sneaky, but something in the tone of their conversation told him not to interrupt.

‘So anyway,’ a boy, whose voice John recognised as Ernie Macmillan’s, was saying, ‘I told Justin to hide in our dormitory. I mean to say, if Potter’s marked him down as his next victim, it’s best if he keeps a low profile for now. Of course, he’s been waiting for something like this to happen ever since he let slip to Potter that he’s Muggle-born. Justin actually _told_ him he’d been down for Eton. That’s not the kind of thing you bandy about with Slytherin’s heir on the loose, is it?’

‘That’s the silliest thing I’ve ever heard, Ernie,’ a girl spoke up.

John grinned as he recognised Molly’s voice.

‘So you definitely think it _is_ him?’ another girl said anxiously.

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Hannah. Harry wouldn’t hurt anyone, least of all Muggle-borns. John and Hermione are his best friends, remember?’ Molly said.

‘Molly, he’s a Parselmouth. Everyone knows that’s the mark of a dark wizard. Have you ever heard of a decent one that could talk to snakes?’

‘Actually yeah, I have. He’s called Harry Potter.’

Ernie groaned dramatically.

‘Come on, Molly, they called Slytherin himself Serpent tongue. You’re only defending him because you fancy his friend – that Sherlock.’

‘That- that’s not true!’

‘Is that supposed to convince me?’

‘He does seem so nice though,’ Hannah said uncertainly, ‘and he’s the one that made You Know Who disappear. He can’t be all bad, can he?’

Ernie lowered his voice mysteriously.

‘No one knows how he survived that attack by You Know Who. I mean to say, he was only a baby when it happened. He should have been blasted to smithereens. Only a really powerful dark wizard could have survived a curse like that.’

He dropped his voice until it was barely more than a whisper and said, ‘ _That’s_ probably why You Know Who wanted to kill him in the first place. Didn’t want another dark wizard _competing_ with him. I wonder what other powers Potter’s been hiding.’

John lost his patience at the exact moment Harry did and they both stepped out from behind the bookshelves. John went up to each of the Hufflepuffs he hadn’t met yet and shook their hands.

‘Hi – h-hello there – how are you? J-John Watson. Harry Potter’s friend Muggle-born,’ he said breezily.

He grinned at Molly, who hid her laughter behind her hand. But then she saw the duvet and John’s face.

‘Oh, John, you look awful,’ she frowned. ‘What’s the matter with you?’

‘Not a lot, just the flu.’

‘Well then shouldn’t you be in the hospital wing?’

‘I was looking for Sherlock, have you seen him?’

‘Sh-Sherlock? N-no, I haven’t seen him. Why would I see him?’

John shrugged.

‘Hello,’ Harry said. ‘I’m looking for Justin Finch-Fletchley.’

The colour drained from Ernie’s face.

‘What do you want with him?’ he said in a quavering voice.

‘I wanted to tell him what really happened with that snake at the Duelling Club,’ said Harry.

Ernie bit his lip and then, taking a deep breath, said, ‘We were all there. We saw what happened.’

‘Then you noticed that after I spoke to it, it backed off,’ Harry said.

‘Actually, yes, I did see that,’ Molly piped up.

‘All I saw,’ Ernie said stubbornly, ‘was you speaking Parseltongue and chasing the snake towards Justin,’

‘I didn’t chase it at him!’ Harry said hotly. ‘It didn’t even _touch_ him!’

‘It was a very near miss-‘

‘Stop it now, Ernie,’ Molly frowned.

‘And in case you’re getting any ideas,’ he added hastily, ignoring Molly, ‘I might tell you that you can trace my family back through generations of witches and warlocks and my blood’s as pure as anyone’s, so-‘

‘I don’t care what sort of blood you’ve got!’ Harry said fiercely. ‘Why would I want to attack Muggle-borns?’

‘I’ve heard you hate those Muggles you live with,’ Ernie said swiftly. ‘I’d stay away from him if I were you, John.’

‘Yeah, I’ll get right on that…’

‘It’s impossible to live with the Dursleys and not hate them,’ said Harry. ‘I’d like to see you try it.’

He turned on his heel and stormed out of the library. John grumbled padding after him, weighed down by his duvet and starting to feel very hot and bothered. The shivers were replaced by a clammy sweat and the headache intensified. He rounded a corner after Harry and watched as he walked straight into a snow-covered Hagrid. He filled most of the corridor in his moleskin overcoat and a dead rooster was hanging from one of his massive gloved hands. John’s head swam at the sight of it.

‘All righ’ Harry? John?’ Hagrid said. ‘John, yeh don’ look righ’. Shouldn’ yeh be-‘

‘In the hospital wing? Yeah, on it. Have you seen Sherlock?’

‘Sherlock? Yeah I saw him jus’ a bit ago talkin’ ter Professor Lockhart.’

‘Talking? To Professor Lockhart?’

‘Yeah, why?’

John shook his head.

‘What are you doing in here, Hagrid?’ Harry asked.

Hagrid held up the limp rooster.

‘Second one killed this term,’ he explained. ‘It’s either foxes or a Blood Suckin’ Bugbear, an’ I need the Headmaster’s permission ter put a charm round the hen-coop.’

John breathed out heavily and coughed. It was definitely time to go to bed.

‘Harry, I’m going to head up. I’ll see you later.’

Harry looked at him and winced. He looked absolutely dreadful.

‘I’ll go with you. Make sure you get there all right.’

John grimaced but didn’t argue. He knew Harry would follow him anyway. They said goodbye to Hagrid and walked off towards the hospital wing together. Harry was so preoccupied with what Ernie had said about him that he didn’t notice that John was barely able to drag himself up the stairs. They came to a particularly dark corridor. The torches had all been blown out by a strong, icy draught which was blowing through a loose window pane. It went right through John and ripped away what warmth was left in him. He shuddered violently and lurched to the side, slamming painfully against the stone wall. There was a dull thumping in his ears that blocked out all other sound and his vision flickered.

When he came to, he was lying on the ground; the shivering had returned and he felt someone shaking his shoulders. Suddenly noise filled his ears and the first thing he heard was Ernie Macmillan yelling, ‘ _Caught in the act!’_

‘Shut up, Ernie,’ a voice near his head said.

‘What was it you said about him being friends with John and Hermione? Well now look!’

‘That will do Macmillan,’ Professor McGonagall said sharply.

‘He’s not Petrified, Ernie can’t you see he’s still moving? Someone pass me his duvet.’

John then felt someone wrap the duvet around him, lifting him slightly to tuck it underneath him. An ache rolled through his body and he groaned.

‘John, are you awake?’ Molly said slowly to him.

‘Yeah, I’m awake,’ he said weakly

‘Do you know what happened?’

He heard a quiver in her voice amd knew she wasn’t talking about what happened to him.

‘No. What’s happened?’ he asked.

‘Justin’s been Petrified and, I don’t know how, but so’s Nearly-Headless Nick,’ she said in a lowered voice.

‘What?’ he exclaimed, sitting bolt right up. He swayed a little and Molly steadied him by his shoulers. He quickly surveyed the scene. Harry was being led away by Professor McGonagall and a few Prefects had appeared to disperse the crowd. The he saw Justin, lying stiff as a board, terrified expression turned towards the ceiling. John groaned again and put his head in his hands.

‘Come on, let’s get you upstairs,’ Professor Flitwick squeaked, approaching him from the side. He conjured two stretchers, one for Justin and one for John. Someone had given Ernie a large fan, which he was now using to waft Nearly-Headless Nick away. Molly helped steer John’s stretcher and he was glad he didn’t have to walk all the way, though he hoped that Harry wasn’t in too much trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When you accidentally skip a chapter


	9. The Polyjuice Potion

The Polyjuice Potion

'Nice of you to turn up,' John huffed as Sherlock finally ambled into the hospital wing.

John and Justin had both been carried up to the hospital wing on stretchers by Professor Flitwick and the Astronomy teacher, Professor Sinistra. The lessons for the rest of that day had been cancelled and Professor McGonagall had begun marching around the corridors in an attempt to reign in the chaos caused by the double attack.

'Where have you been? I was looking for you,' John said.

Castiel had been put in charge of looking after John while Madam Pomfrey found a place for Justin and Nearly-Headless Nick. This wasn't easy as it was impossible to lay Nick on a bed. In the end, she settled for wafting him into a corner and conjured high curtains around him.

'I was- I was-'

'You were talking to Professor Lockhart, right?' John prompted.

Castiel clinked around, peering at different potions, trying to work out which ones would work on John; having already given him all the usual ones.

'-Yes, I was talking to Professor Lockhart,' Sherlock said uncertainly.

'Why?'

Castiel pressed a cold flannel to John's forehead and gave him a phial of purple potion. He accepted it and swallowed a mouthful. It tasted like ice and John shuddered. Castiel watched him closely for about a minute, then frowned. Evidently it had not done what he was expecting it to do.

'I can't give you any more potions,' he said. 'They might start to react badly with each other.'

'Why isn't it working?' Sherlock asked.

'I- I have to talk to Madam Pomfrey,' he stuttered, scuttling away.

John fell back against his pillows, feeling very tired now.

'You have to go home,' Sherlock said, looking at John. 'That could have been you.'

'I'm going home for Christmas. I'm fine.'

'It was very close, John. I want you to stay there.'

'You're not serious,' John laughed. Sherlock said nothing. 'No. Absolutely not.'

'You're not safe here.'

'So? Neither's anyone else. What're you going to do, send  _all_ the Muggle-borns home?'

Sherlock opened his mouth, but he was interrupted by Ron and Hermione hurrying up to them, closely followed by Molly Hooper. Castiel was suddenly there too, taking advantage of the distraction to garb Sherlock's arm and pull him away.

'What? What's wrong?' Sherlock asked.

'The only reason those potions wouldn't work is if it isn't a normal flu,' Castiel said.

'What do you mean?'

'We can't cure it because it's magical, and we don't know the cause.'

Sherlock stiffened.

'So he's been poisoned?'

Castiel fidgeted.

'Well…no. I don't think so. That last potion I gave him was meant to reveal any poisons in his system. It would have made him sneeze if there had been any.'

Sherlock stared at him, confused. He could hear the quiet murmur of voices behind him.

'So, what then?'

Castiel hesitated, then leaned in closer.

'I think it might have something to do with his being the Oracle,' he murmured. 'There's never been one before, so no one would know the exact symptoms, but a lot of Seers reported having mild flus before their powers had fully matured. It's magical and it's more severe because he's more powerful. It fits.'

'No it doesn't. We have that- er- thing. If it is that, why am I fine?'

Castiel scrutinised him.

'I don't think you are,' he said.

'What's that supposed to mean?' Sherlock demanded.

Castiel flinched and rubbed his arm.

'You've been- strange- lately. More so than usual. Like today. Normally, you'd be the first to know that John was so sick, but you've been missing all day,' he explained carefully.

Sherlock considered this and conceded.

'We're both going home for Christmas, so I'll make sure he gets to his mom safely. Unfortunately he's just going to have to wait this out,' Castiel said. He smiled slightly and went back to John to check his temperature again.

At last, the term ended and, in the panic following the attack, most of the school had signed up to go home. Castiel did as he said, making sure that John was all right and helped him on to the train.

A silence as deep as the snow descended on the castle and Harry, Hermione and the Weasleys had the run of Gryffindor Tower. Sherlock, the only Ravenclaw that had elected to stay, had been given permission to stay with the Gryffindors, and stared out of the window at the snow while the rest of them played Exploding Snap. Fred, George, and Ginny had chosen to stay at school rather than visit Bill in Egypt with Mr and Mrs Weasley. Percy, who disapproved of what he termed their childish behaviour, didn't spend much time in the Gryffindor common room. He already told them pompously that  _he_ was only staying over Christmas because it was his duty to support the teachers in this troubled time ('Not like that Gabriel. I don't know what he's thinking. So irresponsible.').

Sherlock didn't sleep Christmas Eve. Restless and irritated, he rose before the sun and was surprised to meet Hermione in the common room.

'Oh, good, you're up. Come help me with the potion, it's nearly ready,' she said briskly.

So up to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom they went.

Hermione settled in front of the cauldron and watched the potion like a hawk, adding a few lacewings every so often. Myrtle, who was in a particularly festive mood, only cried twice while they were there and even wished them a 'M-m-merry Christmas.'

After an hour, Hermione sat back from the cauldron.

'It's ready,' she said. 'Come on, let's go back. I want to wake Harry and Ron up.'

Harry and Ron had been sleeping peacefully until Hermione arrived.

'Wake up,' she said loudly, opening the curtains to let in the white winter light.

'You're not supposed to be in here,' Ron grumbled. Sherlock was surprised to find a small pile of presents had been delivered to the bed he'd been sleeping in.

'Merry Christmas to you too,' said Hermione, throwing Ron his present. 'Sherlock and I have been up for over an hour, adding more lacewings to the potion. It's ready.'

Harry sat up to look at her.

'Are you sure?' he said.

'Positive. If we're going to do it, I say it should be tonight.'

At that moment, Hedwig, Grace, and Greg, dropping in presents from the Dursleys, from Castiel, and from John.

Sherlock picked up the one from John first. The note attached to it said, ' _Hope this helps. From John'._ He tore off the packaging and chuckled at the familiar-looking box. Inside, a shiny, new Slytherin tie was folded neatly. Along with that, John had also gotten him, and everyone else, a pair of gloves. For snowball fights according to him.

From Castiel, everyone had received a small phial of Pepperup Potion that he had made himself, just in case. After seeing the effect it had had on Ginny earlier in the year, none of them were particularly keen to try it.

In his pile, Sherlock also found a gift from Mycroft that turned out to b a new set of scales, and a lumpy parcel from Mrs Weasley. It seemed that, he too, had been given a home-knitted jumper. It was a deep, indigo colour, and it had his initial on it.

'Mum made you a jumper?' Ron asked, staring at it.

'Your mum always makes me a jumper.'

In truth, he had never worn it, but, for some reason he couldn't place, this time was different. He pulled it on over his head and felt the warmth from it, and ate some of the plum cake that had come with it.

It was Sherlock and Hermione's first Christmas at Hogwarts and both of them were thoroughly enjoying themselves at Christmas dinner. Sherlock and the Weasley twins kept taking it in turns to steal Percy's Prefect badge, and bewitching it to say different things. Eventually Percy got it back, but he didn't notice that it now said 'Pinhead'.

Sherlock didn't eat much, and started to get bored waiting for everyone else to finish. Hermione too got impatient and ushered them out of the hall after Harry and Ron had finished their third helping of Christmas pudding.

'We still need a bit of the people you're changing into,' she said once they'd got out of the hall.

'I've got mine,' Sherlock said. He pulled a corked phial out of his pocket to show them the dark hairs that he had collected. 'I put a Full-Body Bind on the Slytherin boy I was paired with at the Duelling Club. Moriarty his name is. He went home, but he's a first-year so Malfoy won't notice if he's around.'

'But how are you going to question Malfoy if he doesn't know who you are?' Harry said.

'Well I thought about that. It'll look suspicious if four people question him at once, so I thought if I disguised myself as someone unnoticeable, I'd be able to search his dormitory while you three have him distracted.

'We've got it all worked out,' Hermione said smoothly. 'It would be best if you two got hairs from Crabbe and Goyle. They're his best friends, he'll tell them anything.'

'Because that'll be easy,' Ron said sarcastically.

'Actually, I think it will be. All we have to do is make sure that the real Crabbe and Goyle can't burst in on us while we're talking to Malfoy, so-' she held up two plump chocolate cakes '- I filled these with a simple Sleeping Draught. All you have to do is make sure Crabbe and Goyle find them. You know how greedy they are, they're bound to eat them. Once they're asleep, pull out a few of their hairs and hide them in a broom cupboard.'

'And remember to take their shoes. You'll need them,' Sherlock added. 'Hermione and I will go and get some spare robes from the laundry room and meet you back in the bathroom.'

They hurried off in separate directions, Sherlock and Hermione down to the laundry room. They quickly located some large robes that looked like they would fit Crabbe, Goyle, and Millicent Bulstrode. Then Sherlock grabbed some that were too small for him, but just right for Moriarty. He and Hermione sprinted back up to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom and put the robes beside the basin. Hermione dashed into the cubicle and stirred the potion until it began to bubble and smoke thick black clouds. She set out four glass tumblers and continued stirring the potion while they waited for Harry and Ron. Finally, they heard a soft knock on the door.

'Hermione? Sherlock?'

Harry and Ron came in and quickly shut the door behind them.

'Did you get them?' she asked breathlessly, wiping her forehead.

Harry held out the hairs and Ron held up the shoes.

'Good. The robes are over there,' she said, pointing at them. 'I'm sure I've done everything right.'

She nervously re-read the splotched page in  _Moste Potente Potions,_ then handed it to Sherlock. He re-read it and peered closely at the potion. It looked like thick, dark mud, bubbling sluggishly.

'It looks like it should,' he reassured her. 'Once we've drunk it, we'll have exactly one hour before we change back into ourselves.'

'Now what?' Ron asked nervously.

'We separate it into the glasses and add the hairs.'

Hermione ladled large dollops of the potion into each of the glasses. Then she shook Millicent Bulstrode's hair out of its bottle into the glass.

The potion hissed loudly like a boiling kettle and frothed madly. A second later, it had turned a sick sort of yellow.

'Eurgh- essence of Millicent Bulstrode,' said Ron, eyeing it with loathing. 'Bet it tastes disgusting.'

'Add yours, then,' Hermione said.

The three of them dropped the hairs into their glasses. They hissed and frothed: Goyle's turned the khaki colour of a bogey, Crabbe's a murky brown, and Moriarty's turned a dark, navy blue.

'Well yours doesn't look so bad,' Ron grumbled, looking at Sherlock's glass. Sherlock made a grunting noise and disappeared into a cubicle with his set of robes and his potion. He heard the others locking themselves in other cubicles.

'Ready?' Harry called.

'Ready,' he, Ron and Hermione said.

Sherlock downed his potion and shuddered. It tasted like overcooked cabbage.

Immediately, his insides started writhing, as though he'd just swallowed live snakes. He clutched at the sides of the cubicle, fighting to keep himself standing. A burning sensation spread to his fingers and his toes, but by far the worst part was the feeling that his skin was melting as it bubbled like hot wax. He watched as his fingers shrunk and the floor seemed to be coming towards him until he realised that his legs were getting shorter. His hair began to recede back into his scalp and for the first time in years he didn't have it in his eyes. His forehead felt oddly cold.

Suddenly, it was over. Everything stopped. Breathing hard, Sherlock examine himself carefully. His robes felt slightly tighter on the shoulders and they were dragging along the ground around his feet, and his shoes were now too big. He quickly changed into the Slytherin robes, then pulled a tie box out of his own, Ravenclaw ones. He smiled at the Slytherin tie as he lifted it out of the box and put it on for luck. Not that he believed I luck. He started at the sound of Goyle's low, rasping voice coming from his left.

'Is everyne okay?'

'Yeah,' came Crabbe's deep grunt.

'Yes,' Sherlock said. He was surprised to hear a rich, Irish accent issuing from his own mouth. He opened the door to his cubicle and came out to find himself face to face with Goyle. Well, more like face to chest.

Ron, too, emerged from his cubicle. Aside from looking pale and shocked, he was indistinguishable from Crabbe. Sherlock quickly glanced down at himself and was pleased to find that he looked exactly like Moriarty, and he smiled as he worked out that he was still taller than John.

'You have no idea how bizarre it is to see Goyle  _thinking,'_ Ron said to Harry in amazement. He banged on Hermione's door. 'C'mon, we need to go…'

'I-I don't think I'm going to come after all. You go on without me,' she answered in a high-pitched voice. Immediately, Sherlock knew something was wrong. Millicent Bulstrode's voice was anything but high-pitched.

'Hermione, we know Millicent Bulstrode's ugly, no one's going to know it's you,' Ron said.

'No – really – I don't think I'll come. You three hurry up, you're wasting time.'

'Hermione, are you ok?' Harry asked through the door.

'Fine – I'm fine… Go on – '

'She's right. We've already lost five minutes,' Sherlock said, blinking as he was once again caught by surprise at the accent.

Ron and Harry hesitated and Sherlock, getting bored, left without them, ending up having to wait for them in the Entrance Hall once he remembered that they didn't know where the Slytherin common room was.

'Patience is a virtue, you know,' Ron grumbled as they caught up. Sherlock rolled his eyes and motioned with a finger for them to follow. He led them down into the dungeons, passing a Ravenclaw girl with long curly hair in the damp corridor. Concentrating on remembering his way through the labyrinthine passages, he barely noticed a figure emerging from a side room.

'What're you doing down here?' said Ron in surprise.

It was Percy.

'That is none of your business,' Percy said stiffly. 'It's Crabbe, isn't it?'

Sherlock melted away, unseen by Percy, and continued on to the entrance of the Slytherin common room, smiling slightly as he passed Draco Malfoy in the corridor. He knew that he would let the other two in once he found them. Sherlock whispered ' _Pure-blood'_ to the bare stone wall and it slid open. It was just as he remembered it. The rough, stone walls, the green lamps, and the ebony furniture. As he'd thought, no one noticed him come in. He quickly strode over to the dormitories, but instead of going through the left door into the girls' dormitories, as he had done last year, he went right into the boys'. Sherlock looked around the long stone corridor with seven doors along it, identical to the one he'd been in, and entered the second door along, where the second-year boys slept, Malfoy's bed was in the centre of the room, his bedside table littered with sweet wrappers. There was a copy of the  _Daily Prophet_ lying on the bed, the front page facing up. Sherlock snatched it up and quickly read the article.

_ENQUIRY AT THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC_

_Arthur Weasley, Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office, was today fined fifty Galleons for bewitching a Muggle car._

_Mr Lucius Malfoy, a governor of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where the enchanted car crashed earlier this year, called today for Mr Weasley's resignation._

' _Weasley has brought the Ministry into dispute,' Mr Malfoy told our reporter. 'He is clearly unfit to draw up our laws and his ridiculous Muggle Protection Act should be scrapped immediately.'_

_Mr Weasley was unavailable for comment, although his wife told reporters to clear off or she'd set the family ghoul on them._

Sherlock heard footsteps tapping against the stone outside, threw the paper back down on the bed, and quickly hid in one of the other beds, drawing the curtains. He peeked through a gap in the fabric and watched Malfoy grab the newspaper and leave hurriedly. Once he was gone, Sherlock left his hiding place and started rummaging through Malfoy's things, looking for anything that might connect him to the heir of Slytherin, or at least rule him out. Finally, he found a letter in the top drawer of the bedside table. He flipped it open and was disappointed by what he read.

_Draco_

_Try to understand that it will be suspicious if you know too much about the heir. It was before my time, but, yes, you're right I do know something about it. There is no way that you can help except by keeping your head down and letting them get on with it. The last time this happened, the heir was left unimpeded and a Mudblood was killed. Heaven knows that school of yours needs ridding of that filth so you'd better leave well enough alone, and try not to draw any more attention to yourself, we don't need any more raids. We will see you in the summer._

_Your Father._

Sherlock pursed his lips and put the letter back the way he had found it. It didn't prove anything, but at least they could rule one person out. He walked back to the common room and found himself looking at the back of Malfoy's head.

'Luckily, we've got our own secret chamber under the drawing room floor-' Malfoy was saying.

Harry and Ron were sitting opposite him.

Ron's – or rather Crabbe's – face lit up with excitement.

'Ho!' he said loudly.

Malfoy looked at him. So did Harry, and Sherlock's eyes widened as Crabbe's face turned red, and then so did his hair. Sherlock realised that they were turning back into themselves and his hand shot up to his head, where he felt his hair starting to curl beneath his fingers.

Harry and Ron both jumped to their feet, mumbling something about medicine. They sprinted the length of the common room, hurled themselves at the stone wall and disappeared up the passage. Sherlock walked around Malfoy, who paid no attention to him, and followed them out.

They'd already dashed up to Myrtle's bathroom, so Sherlock continued on his way and met them up there. By the time he arrived, he had turned back to normal, the trousers of his stolen robes hanging around his calves. Harry and Ron had also returned to normal and were changing their robes. Ron hastily pulled his own cloak over his head and hammered on the door of Hermione's cubicle.

'Hermione, come out, we've got loads to tell you –'

'Go away,' Hermione squeaked.

Sherlock's stomach sank.

'What's the matter?' said Ron. 'You must be back to normal by now…'

But Moaning Myrtle suddenly glided through the cubicle door. She had never looked so happy.

'Ooooh, wait till you see,' she said. 'It's  _awful_!'

The lock slid back and Hermione emerged with her robes pulled up over her head.

'What, have you still got Millicent's nose or something?'

Hermione let her robes fall. Her face was covered in black fur. Her eyes had turned yellow and there were long ears poking through her hair.

'It was a c-cat hair!' she sobbed. 'M-Millicent Bulstrode m-must have a cat! And the Potion isn't supposed to be used for animal transformations!'

'Uh oh,' said Ron.

'You'll be teased something  _dreadful_ ,' Myrtle said happily.

'It's okay, Hermione,' Harry said quickly. 'We'll take you up to Madam Pomfrey.'

'Yeah, Madam Pomfrey never asks too many questions. Never said anything even though she knew I as lying about Norbert biting me,' Ron assured.

It took a while for them to persuade Hermione to leave the bathroom. Myrtle sped them on with a gleeful comment,

'Wait till everyone finds out you've got a  _tail_!'

 


	10. The Very Secret Diary

The Very Secret Diary

John and Castiel returned from their Christmas holiday and, almost immediately, Castiel was whisked away by Gabriel.

‘I think he must have caught my flu,’ John said. ‘He didn’t look well on the train. Hope he didn’t though, it was awful.’

‘Really that bad?’ Sherlock asked?

‘Yeah and it kept coming and going. It was mostly all right, but Christmas Day I couldn’t get rid of the taste of overcooked cabbage.’

‘I see.’

Sherlock was silent for a moment while John got a better grip on his trunk. He took a few steps into the Entrance Hall and was suddenly on the floor, looking bewildered. Sherlock looked at him incredulously.

‘You’ve only been here five minutes!’

‘Yeah, yeah, are you going to help me up or what?’

Sherlock hauled him to his feet and, once again, helped John up to the hospital wing.

‘You should get a walking stick. I might not be there to help next time,’ Sherlock grunted.’

‘Or this place should get a lift.’

‘A what?’

‘Never mind.’

Gabriel met them coming out of the hospital wing looking significantly less worried than when he’d got off the train.

‘How’s he doing?’ John asked.

‘Oh don’t worry about him, he’ll be fine. Your leg?’ he asked, nodding at John.

‘Yeah. Madam Pomfrey’ll fix it.’

‘Maybe Sherlock should learn to fix it.’

Gabriel smiled and walked off.

  Madam Pomfrey was not happy.

I told you to be careful with that leg, Watson,’ she said.

‘I did, it just sort of – happened.’

‘John, is that you?’ a voice said from behind a curtain.

The curtain pulled back and a girl-sized car appeared, staring at him with glowing yellow eyes. His jaw dropped as he recognised her.

‘ _Hermione?’_ he gasped. ‘You- you’re a _cat!’_

She grimaced.

‘Tell you later,’ she said.

Sherlock had stopped listening and tried to sneak down to the other end of the room, looking for Castiel.

‘Sherlock, leave him alone,’ John called. ‘I already told you, he’s got the flu.’

Sherlock stopped, but didn’t turn back.

‘I was with him on the train, he’ll be fine.’

Sherlock reluctantly turned away, back to John while Madam Pomfrey fixed his leg.

* * *

 

              Hermione remained in the hospital wing for several weeks, causing a flurry of rumour at her disappearance. Everyone thought she had been attacked and filed past the hospital wing, trying to catch a glimpse of her. She was visited every evening by the boys as they brought her that day’s homework.

‘If I’d sprouted whiskers, I’d take a break from work,’ said Ron, tipping a stack of books onto Hermione’s bedside table.

‘Don’t be silly, Ron, I’ve got to keep up.’

All six of them were there, Sherlock on another bed with Castiel helping him with Potions. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem to be going well and Castiel gave up, snapping his book shut. John frowned at him worriedly as he came over looking frustrated.

‘Don’t worry, you’ll get it,’ he said kindly.

‘I don’t suppose you have any new leads?’ Hermione asked in a whisper so Madam Pomfrey wouldn’t hear.

‘Nothing,’ Harry said gloomily.

‘I was so _sure_ it was Malfoy,’ Ron complained.

‘And _I_ told _you_ that it wasn’t likely,’ John said, rolling his eyes.

‘What’s that?’ Harry asked suddenly, pointing at something gold sticking out from under Hermione’s pillow.

‘Just a Get Well card,’ she said, hastily trying to poke it out of sight. Ron was too quick for her and pulled it out. He flicked it open and read aloud:

‘ _To Miss Granger, wishing you a speedy recovery, from your concerned teacher, Professor Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League and five times winner of_ Witch Weekly’s _Most-Charming-Smile Award.’_

 _‘_ Wow. Humble,’ John whistled.

‘You sleep with this under your _pillow?’_ Ron said, disgusted.

Hermione was spared answering by Madam Pomfrey sweeping over with her evening dose of medicine.

‘Is Lockhart the smarmiest bloke you’ve ever met, or what?’ Ron said to Harry and John as they started up the stairs to Gryffindor Tower. John stopped as he heard a noise from the floor above. It came again, this time harder and the others heard it too.

‘That’s Filch,’ Harry muttered as they hurried up the stairs, pausing out of sight and listening hard.

‘You don’t think someone else has been attacked?’ Ron said tensely.

They stood still, heads inclined towards Filch’s voice, which sounded quite hysterical.

‘ _…even more work for me! Mopping all night, like I haven’t got enough to do! No, this is the final straw, I’m going to Dumbledore…’_

His footsteps receded and they heard a distant door slam.

Once they were sure he’d gone, they looked around the corner and immediately saw what he had been shouting about. A great flood of water stretched over half the corridor, and it looked as if it was seeping from under the door of Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom. Now Filch had stopped shouting they could hear Myrtle’s wails echoing off the bathroom walls.

‘ _Now_ what’s up with her?’ said Ron.

‘Let’s go and see,’ said Harry, hitching up his robes. They stepped through the water to the door bearing is ‘Out of Order’ sign, ignoring it as always, and entered.

Moaning Myrtle was crying, if possible, louder and harder than ever before. She seemed to be hiding down her usual toilet. The floor and walls were all soaking wet.

‘What’s up, Myrtle?’ Harry asked.

‘Who’s that?’ Myrtle glugged miserably. ‘Come to throw something else at me?’

Harry waded across to her cubicle and said, ‘Why would I throw something at you?’

‘Don’t ask me,’ Myrtle shouted, emerging with a wave of yet more water. ‘Here I am, minding my own business, and someone thinks it’s funny to throw a book at me…’

‘But it can’t hurt you if someone throws something at you,’ Harry said reasonably. ‘I mean, it’d just go right through you, wouldn’t it?’

Myrtle puffed herself up and shrieked, ‘Let’s all throw books ant Myrtle because _she_ can’t feel it! Ten points if you can get it through her stomach! Fifty points if it goes through her head! Well, ha ha ha! What a lovely game I _don’t_ think!’

‘Sorry, Myrtle, Harry doesn’t think sometimes but he just wants to help. Who threw it at you?’ John said, trying to placate her.

‘ _I_ don’t know… I was just sitting in the U-bend, thinking about death, and it fell right through the top of my head,’ Myrtle told them. ‘It’s over there, it got washed out.’

John looked over to where Myrtle was pointing and a wave of nausea nearly knocked him off his feet. A small, thin book lay on the ground under the sink, its shabby black cover sopping wet. John stepped back and his heart started beating very fast, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the book. His breath caught in his throat as Harry went to grab it, however Ron threw his arm out and stopped him.

‘What?’ Harry said.

‘Are you mad?’ said Ron. ‘It could be dangerous.’

‘ _Dangerous?’_ Harry laughed. ‘Come off it, how could it be dangerous?’

‘It could be,’ John said breathlessly.

‘Yeah, you’d be surprised,’ Ron said, looking at the book apprehensively. ‘Some of the books the Ministry’s confiscated – Dad’s told me – there were some that burned your eyes out. And everyone who read _Sonnets of a Sorcerer_ spoke in limericks for the rest of their lives. And some witch in Bath had a book that you could _never stop reading!_ You just had to go around with your nose in it, trying to do everything one-handed.’

‘All right, I’ve got the point,’ said Harry.

John stood, paralyzed as Harry ducked around Ron and picked the book up off the floor. He thought his heart might stop altogether when Harry opened it. Ron approached cautiously and read over Harry’s shoulder.

‘I know that name… T.M. Riddle got an award for special services to the school fifty years ago.’

John’s head went foggy at the mention of T.M. Riddle and he nearly lost his balance.

‘He never wrote in it. It’s completely blank,’ Harry said. ‘John, come look at this.’

‘No way, keep that thing away from me.’

Both Harry and Ron looked at him in surprise.

‘Are you ok?’

‘John?’

John shook his head vigorously and barged out of the room, bumping into Sherlock on the way out. Sherlock grabbed him by the shoulders to steady him.

‘John, are you all right?’ he asked.

John felt his chest loosen up.

‘Yeah. Yeah, I was just… Harry and Ron found something. I have to go…’

John walked off unsteadily and Sherlock carried on into the bathroom.

‘What did you find?’ Sherlock asked. He didn’t wait for a reply and took the book from Harry.

‘A diary. Fifty years old. Bought on Vauxhall Road, so must have belonged to a Muggle-born. Why’s it wet?’

Ron blinked a few times in surprise.

‘Someone tried to flush it,’ he said.

‘It’s blank, why would someone try and flush it?’

‘No idea,’ said Ron.

‘Either way, it’s blank. I don’t see any way that this can help us right now.’

‘Well, I’ll keep hold of it. Just in case,’ Harry said, taking it back and pocketing it.

* * *

 

 

Hermione left the hospital wing, de-whiskered, tail-less and fur-free, at the beginning of February. On her first night back in Gryffindor Tower, Harry showed her the book and told her how they found it.

‘Oooh, it might have hidden powers,’ Hermione said enthusiastically, taking the diary and looking at it closely. John was sat a safe distance away watching them queasily.

‘If it has, it’s hiding them very well,’ said Ron. ‘Maybe it’s shy. I don’t know why you don’t chuck it, Harry.’

‘It must be important; why else would someone try to flush it?’ Sherlock said from behind Ron.

‘Do you think you could _not_ sneak up on me like that? And if I remember, you thought it was worthless too. What’s wrong with your common room, anyway?’ Ron grumbled.

‘I did not say that it was worthless. I said that I didn’t see how it could help.’

‘I wish I knew _why_ someone tried to chuck it,’ Harry said, ‘and I wouldn’t mind knowing what Riddle got a special award for either.’

‘Could’ve been anything,’ said Ron. ‘Maybe he got thirty O.W.Ls or saved a teacher from the giant squid.’

‘Why do you make getting thirty O.W.Ls sound like a bad thing?’ Hermione said indignantly. Ron considered it for a moment.

‘You’re right, it doesn’t have to be that. Maybe he murdered Myrtle, that would’ve done everyone a favour…’

‘That’s not even funny, Ron,’ John frowned.

Ron rolled his eyes.

‘Calm down, it’s just a joke.’

John raised his eyebrows.

‘Telling me that it’s a joke doesn’t make it any funnier.’

‘All right, sorry.’

‘Wait a second, can I see that?’ Sherlock asked, motioning for the diary. Hermione passed it to him.

This diary is fifty years old,’ he said.

‘So?’ asked Ron.

‘Malfoy said that the Chamber of Secrets opened fifty years ago…’ Sherlock said slowly. ‘T.M. Riddle got an award for special services to the school fifty years ago. What if he got it for catching the heir of Slytherin?’

 _‘Of course!_ His diary could tell us everything: where the Chamber is, how to open it, what sort of creature lives in it. And obviously the person who’s behind the attacks this time wouldn’t want this lying around, would they?’ Hermione said excitedly.

‘That’s great, Hermione, but there’s _nothing written in this diary.’_

But Hermione whipped her wand out and grabbed the diary back from Sherlock.

‘It might be invisible ink!’ she said.

She tapped the diary three times and said, ‘ _Aparecium!’_

Nothing happened but Hermione wasn’t dissuaded. She shoved her hand into her bag and pulled out what looked like a bright red eraser.

‘It’s a Revealer, I got it in Diagon Alley,’ she said.

She rubbed hard on ‘January 1st’, but, again, nothing happened.

‘I’m telling you, there’s nothing to find in there,’ said Ron. ‘Riddle just got a diary for Christmas and couldn’t be bothered filling it in.’

‘Well why do _you_ think someone tried to get rid of it then?’ Hermione snapped.

None of them had any ideas.

* * *

 

 

John couldn’t explain, even to himself, why he was having such an aversion to the diary, and couldn’t understand why Harry didn’t just throw it away. It was totally blank, so what was the point? But he kept picking it up and flicking through the pages as if _this_ time it would be different. So determined was he to figure out the diary that he dragged them all down to the trophy room to futilely stare at Riddle’s special award. It did say the details of why it had been given to him (‘Good thing too, or it’d be bigger and I’d still be polishing it,’ said Ron). However, they did find Riddle’s name on an old medal for Magical Merit, and on a list of old Head Boys.

‘He sounds like Percy,’ Ron said, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

‘Or Mycroft,’ Sherlock added.

John wandered off, over to the Hogwarts coat of arms that was hanging against the back wall. Sherlock saw him go and followed him over, leaving Ron and Hermione to argue about the kind of person that would be top of their class – all four of them leaving Harry to stare at the burnished gold shield.

‘I keep feeling like I’ve heard his name somewhere,’ John murmured so only Sherlock could hear, reaching out to brush his fingers against the Slytherin crest.

‘Really? Where would you have heard it?’

‘No idea.’

John paused for a moment staring at the crest.

‘How’s Castiel?’ he said, turning away from it.

‘He’s fine,’ Sherlock said. ‘We’ll see him in Charms.’

‘I hope so.’

Sherlock shook his head and wondered what was going through John’s head. An image of Castiel flashed in front of his eyes, leaving him disoriented and slightly dizzy as they headed back to lessons.

* * *

 

 

The sun began to shine on Hogwarts castle again and the atmosphere inside the castle became hopeful. There had been no more attacks since those on Justin and Nearly-Headless Nick and Madam Pomfrey was pleased to report that the Mandrakes were becoming moody and secretive, meaning that they were fast leaving childhood. Castiel also excitedly announced that Madam Pomfrey was allowing him to help out more. Since she was occupied with the potion, Castiel was allowed to deal with more of the smaller afflictions.

Perhaps the heir of Slytherin had lost their nerve. It was getting increasingly risky to open the Chamber of Secrets with the school so alert and suspicious. Perhaps the monster, whatever it was, was even now settling itself down to hibernate for another fifty years.

Ernie Macmillan of Hufflepuff didn’t take this cheerful view. He was still convinced that Harry was the guilty one despite being told several times by Sherlock, and even once by Castiel, that it wasn’t Harry. He held to the theory that Harry had ‘given himself away’ at the Duelling Club. Peeves wasn’t helping matters either. He kept popping up in crowded corridors singing ‘Oh Potter, you rotter…’ now with a dance routine to match.

On top of that, Gilderoy Lockhart was prancing around the school, convinced he had made the attacks stop himself and told anyone who would listen (as well as those that wouldn’t). As the Gryffindors were lining up for Transfiguration, they overheard him telling Professor McGonagall so.

‘I don’t think there’ll be any more trouble, Minerva,’ he said, tapping his nose knowingly and winking. ‘I think the Chamber has been locked up for good this time. The culprit must have known it was only a matter of time before I caught them. Rather sensible to stop now before I came down hard on them.

‘You know, what the school needs now is a morale-booster. Wash away the memories of last term! I won’t say any more just now but I think I now just the thing…’

John shuddered at this. Goodness only knew what he had in mind, but knowing him it would be something terribly tacky and awful all round.

* * *

 

Lockhart’s idea of a morale-booster became clear at breakfast on February 14th. John had overslept following a restless night and, accompanied by Harry, hurried down to the Great Hall slightly late. He came to a jarring halt as he entered the room. The walls were covered in large, lurid pink flowers and heart-shaped confetti was falling from the pale-blue ceiling. They went over to the Gryffindor table where Ron, was sitting looking sickened and Hermione had come over rather giggly. Castiel was also there, looking dazed and slightly flushed. Sherlock as nowhere to be seen.

‘What’s going on?’ Harry asked, sitting down.

‘I’m not sure I even want to know,’ John said, the bright pink colours already stinging his eyes.

Ron pointed at the teachers’ table, too disgusted to speak. Lockhart, who was wearing horrible pink robes to match the decorations, was waving for silence. The teachers sitting either side of him did not look pleased; Snape looked as if someone had force-fed him Skele-Gro.

‘Happy Valentine’s Day!’ Lockhart shouted. ‘And may I thank the forty-seven people so far who have sent me cards! Yes, I have taken the liberty of arranging this little surprise for you all – and it doesn’t end here!’

Lockhart clapped his hands and a dozen surly-looking dwarfs marched into the room. Not just any dwarfs, however. Lockhart had them all wearing golden wings and carrying harps.

‘My friendly, card-carrying cupids!’ beamed Lockhart.

‘Oh, God,’ John groaned.

‘They will be roving around the school today delivering your Valentines!’ Lockhart continued ‘And the fun doesn’t stop there! I’m sure my colleagues will want to enter into the spirit of the occasion! Why not ask Professor Snape to show you how to whip up a Love Potion!’

Castiel frowned slightly.

‘I can’t believe he’s advocating the use of Love Potions,’ he muttered. ‘Doesn’t he know how dangerous they are?’

‘Probably not. He’s the biggest idiot I’ve ever seen,’ Ron said.

‘And while you’re at it, Professor Flitwick knows more about Entrancing Enchantments than any wizard I’ve ever met, the sly old dog!’ Lockhart winked.

Professor Flitwick buried his face in his hands and, Snape looked as though the first person to ask him for a Love Potion would be force-fed poison.

‘Please, Hermione, tell me you weren’t one of the forty-seven,’ said Ron as they left the Great Hall. Hermione suddenly became very interested in searching her bag for her timetable and Castiel turned a slight shade of pink. John smirked and shook his head, then suddenly bumped into Sherlock. He was gazing into the distance dreamily.

‘Sherlock?’ John said.

‘Merry Christmas,’ Sherlock slurred.

‘What are you on about, it’s not Christmas.’

Sherlock’s eyes focused and he looked at John in confusion.

‘What? Of course it’s not Christmas,’ he said.

‘But you just said- Sherlock, what’s going on?’ John demanded.

‘I don’t know what- what on Earth-?’

A dwarf barged past Sherlock, already on his way to deliver a letter and almost knocking Sherlock off his feet.

‘ _Sherlock,_ come on! What is it?’

Sherlock looked at him for a moment, then a look of fury contorted his face. He walked off without a word.

‘Sherlock- ‘

John sighed and watched him go, then carried on to his lesson.

All day long, the dwarfs barged in and out of lessons, making teaching almost impossible, though Snape, after the first lesson, began locking his classroom door at the start of his lessons. Late that afternoon, as the Gryffindors and Ravenclaws were making their way to Charms, one of them caught up with Harry. Castiel and John were a little behind him when a particularly grim-looking dwarf elbowed past them.

‘Oy, you! ‘Arry Potter!’ he shouted. ‘I’ve got a musical message to deliver to ‘Arry Potter in person,’ he said, twanging his harp threateningly.

‘Oh, this’ll be good,’ a voice from behind Castiel said in amusement.

They watched Harry struggle to get away from the dwarf, who grabbed his bag and ripped it, spilling the contents over the floor in front of a queue of first-years that happened to include Ginny Weasley. John’s stomach sank as he saw the look on her face. Harry hurriedly tried to scoop his ink-sodden things up before the dwarf could start singing, causing a bit of a hold-up in the corridor. They heard Draco Malfoy and Percy Weasley’s voices down the corridor and Harry tried to make a run for it, only to be tackled to the ground by the dwarf. He sat on Harry’s ankles and got himself ready.

‘Right,’ he said, ‘here’s your singing Valentine:

‘ _His eyes are as green as fresh pickled toad,_

_His hair as dark as a blackboard._

_I wish he was mine, he’s really divine,_

_The hero who conquered the Dark Lord.’_

The corridor exploded with laughter and the boy behind Castiel spoke again.

‘Oh, man, that’s terrible,’ he said, crying with mirth. ‘Still, not a bad way to pick up chicks, am I right?’

He slapped Castiel on the back, who blushed bright red, and walked away.

Percy was doing his best to clear the corridor, but only managing to shoo away some of the younger students. John moved over to help Harry pick up some of his things, but was blocked by Malfoy snatching something up off the ground. Nausea washed over him as he saw that Malfoy had picked up Riddle’s diary.

‘What are you doing?’ John said loudly, causing Harry to turn their way and see what Malfoy was doing.

‘Give that back,’ Harry said.

Malfoy, leering, showed it to Crabbe and Goyle.

‘Wonder what Potter’s written in this?’ he said nastily.

‘Hand it over, Malfoy,’ Percy said sternly.

‘When I’ve had a look,’ Malfoy said gleefully, waving the diary at Harry tauntingly.

Percy said, ‘As a school Prefect- ‘, but Harry lost his temper. He drew his wand and shouted, ‘ _Expelliarmus!’_ and the diary shot out of Malfoy’s hand into the air. Ron caught it, grinning broadly.

‘Harry!’ Percy said loudly. ‘No magic in the corridors. I’ll have to report this, you know!’

Harry didn’t seem to care much and continued to gather up his things. Malfoy was looking furious, and as Ginny passed him to enter her classroom, he yelled spitefully after her, ‘I don’t think Potter liked your Valentine much!’

Ginny covered her face and ran into class. Rage bubbled up inside John.

‘Sod off, Malfoy,’ he said hotly. ‘Just because _you_ didn’t get any Valentines doesn’t mean you can take it out on other people.’

Malfoy turned on him angrily.

‘ _Excuse me?’_ he said. ‘Did I say you could talk to me, Mudblood?’

The crowd gasped. John snorted.

‘You know, there’s one thing that Muggle-borns have on Pure-bloods,’ he said.

‘Oh, _really?’_ Malfoy sneered.

John punched Malfoy square on the nose.

‘Pure-bloods have forgotten how to use their hands,’ he hissed.

‘ _Watson!_ Detention!’ Professor McGonagall shouted, who had come out of her classroom to see what was causing the commotion.

‘He called me a Mudblood, Professor,’ John said, gritting his teeth angrily.

Professor McGonagall paused.

‘Fifteen points from Slytherin,’ she barked at Malfoy. ‘That language is unacceptable on these grounds. Now, all of you, get to your lessons.’

She retreated back to her classroom.

John smiled brightly at Malfoy and walked away with Harry, Ron and Castiel. A detention was a small price to pay for punching Malfoy in the face, and one that John was more than willing to pay.

‘Hey, look at this,’ Harry said, clutching the diary. John flinched away from it.

‘What about it?’ he frowned.

‘My ink got all over it, but now it’s completely dry. No marks on any of the pages.’

* * *

 

 

That night, Harry pored over the diary again, but eventually, Fred and George’s repeated renditions of Harry’s singing Valentine got irritating and John watched him retreat upstairs to the dormitory with the diary.

‘He’s so weird with that thing,’ Ron said. ‘If there was anything to find we would have found it by now.’

‘I don’t know, Ron, there’s a lot of magic that we don’t know about yet,’ Hermione said doubtfully. ‘I don’t think even Sherlock’s managed to read everything in the Restricted Section. Not to mention that the library doesn’t have all the information in the world.’

Ron gasped dramatically.

‘ _Hermione!’_ he said. ‘The library doesn’t have all the information, really?’

‘Shut up,’ Hermione said playfully.

Just then, Sherlock came in and sat down by the fire.

‘Where have you been?’ John demanded.

Sherlock made a face.

‘None of your business, Mycroft.’

John held his hands up.

‘Fine, I’m not going to talk to you when you’re like this,’ he said

‘Like what, exactly?’ Sherlock demanded.

‘You just- you shut everyone out with this stupid ‘I know better than everyone’ persona, and I’ve had enough of it!’

Everyone that was still left in the room looked away awkwardly and began to disappear upstairs.

‘You’ve been walking around so spaced out that you thought it was bloody Christmas, but apparently you don’t deem me smart enough to know what’s going on!’

Sherlock just took it without saying a word.

Ron cleared his throat and directed their attention to the stairs where Harry was standing, pale and shaking.

‘Harry, what’s wrong,’ Hermione asked.

‘It was Hagrid… That was what Riddle got his award for… It was Hagrid.’

‘What? What was Hagrid?’ Hermione prompted.

‘He was the one. He opened the Chamber of Secrets fifty years ago and Riddle caught him.’

‘Harry, that’s impossible. How do you know?’

‘The- the diary. I got sort of sucked into it. It has Riddle’s memory in it or something and it showed me- he showed me. Hagrid released the monster, I saw him.’


	11. Cornelius Fudge

Cornelius Fudge

 They all knew that Hagrid had an unfortunate liking for large and monstrous creatures, having previously come across his giant, three-headed dog named Fluffy, as well as helping him smuggle a dragon hatchling out of the castle.

‘What did the monster look like?’ Sherlock asked after Harry had finished telling them what happened.

‘It was big, hairy and had a lot of legs,’ Harry said dully, imagining Hagrid trying to fit a lead and collar on it. ‘He probably thought it was a shame that it had been cooped up for so long.’

Castiel pursed his lips.

‘I don’t believe it. Hagrid would never do this,’ he said.

‘Riddle _might_ have the wrong person,’ said Hermione. ‘Maybe it was some other monster that was attacking people…’

‘How many monsters d’you think this place can hold?’ Ron said.

John shook his head.

‘This doesn’t make any sense,’ he said ‘Hagrid is not the heir of Slytherin. Not in a million years.’

‘But we don’t know that for sure. It’s just as likely as Harry being the heir of Slytherin,’ Sherlock said.

‘But do you _really_ think it was him? Do you _really_ think Hagrid wants to kill Muggle-borns?’ John said adamantly.

‘Of course not, but that doesn’t mean he set it loose and it started attacking people on its own,’ Harry said. ‘We all know he was expelled and the attacks must have stopped, otherwise Riddle wouldn’t have got his award.’

‘Who asked Riddle to grass on Hagrid, anyway?’ Ron scowled.

‘The monster had _killed_ someone, Ron,’ Hermione pointed out.

‘And Riddle was going back to some Muggle orphanage if they closed Hogwarts,’ said Harry. ‘I don’t blame him for wanting to stay here…’

‘No. No, it doesn’t feel right,’ John said. ‘Something is off about this Riddle. Did you see what house he was in? He was wearing his Prefect badge, right?’

Harry was silent.

‘Bet you anything he was in Slytherin.’

‘Do you think we should _ask_ Hagrid about it all?’ Hermione said hesitantly.

‘Oh yeah, that’ll be a cheerful visit,’ Ron said. ‘Hello, Hagrid, tell us, have you been setting anything mad and hairy loose in the castle lately?’

Eventually, they decided that they wouldn’t speak to Hagrid unless there was another attack, and since it had now been almost four months since the last one, they were hopeful that they would never have to.

 

Once the Easter holidays came around, the second-years were given something else to think about in the form of their third-year subject choices.

‘It could affect our whole future,’ Hermione said earnestly, poring over the subject list and surrounded by books on each of them.

‘I just want to give up Potions,’ said Harry, with fervent agreement from Castiel.

‘We can’t,’ Ron said gloomily. ‘We keep all our old subjects, or I’d’ve ditched Defense Against the Dark Arts.’

Hermione looked shocked.

‘But that’s very important!’ she said.

‘Not the way Lockhart teaches it,’ John scoffed.

‘Yeah. The only thing I’ve learned from him is not to set pixies loose,’ said Ron.

Sherock received a letter from Mycroft advising him on his subjects, which he promptly threw in the fire. John looked over Sherlock’s shoulder at his subject list.

‘Study of Ancient Runes, Arithmancy and… _Divination?’_

‘Yes, and? You’re taking Divination,’ Sherlock said.

‘Yeah, but that’s because… well that’s because…’

‘Because what?’

‘Well, because I’m bad at maths.’

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

‘Well at least I wasn’t mad enough to take everything. Why Hermione feels the need to take Muggle Studies, I don’t know,’ John said defensively. ‘What are you taking, Castiel?’

‘I’ve chosen Study of Ancient Runes and Care of Magical Creatures,’ Castiel told him.

‘Oh, cool, you two will have Ancient Runes together.’

‘That will be nice,’ Castiel smiled.

John nodded. Harry and Ron had both picked Divination and Care of Magical creatures as well, so he would at least have some friendly faces to help him out.

 

Gryffindor’s next Quidditch match would be against Hufflepuff, so Wood had been insisting on team practices after dinner every night. The evening before the match, Harry came cheerily through the portrait hole.

‘Hey, Harry,’ John said.

He, Ron and Hermione had taken over a table in the common room.

‘Coming to do homework?’

‘Yeah, just let me put my broom away,’ Harry said.

He got half way to the stairs when Neville came rushing down them looking frantic.

‘Harry – I don’t know who did it. I just found – ‘

He motioned for them to follow him upstairs. He opened the door to the dormitory and Hermione gasped. The contents of Harry’s trunk had been thrown everywhere, his cloak lay ripped on the floor. The bedclothes had been pulled off his four-poster bed and the drawer had been ripped out of his bedside cabinet, the contents strewn over the mattress. A few loose pages of _Travels with Trolls_ lay on the ground and Harry stood on them on the way over to his bed.

‘What happened?’ Hermione said.

‘No idea,’ said Harry.

Ron examine Harry’s robes. All the pockets were hanging out.

‘Looks like someone was looking for something,’ John said, holding up a shredded Lockhart book. ‘Is anything missing?’

‘Not that I can tell.’

Harry started to throw things back into his trunk and it wasn’t until he got to the last of his books that he realised what was missing.

‘Riddle’s diary is gone,’ he said.

‘ _What?’_ Ron exclaimed.

Hermione looked aghast, and though John was relieved that it was gone, he also felt that it would have been better off in Harry’s hands than wherever it was now.

‘It must have been a Gryffindor. Nobody else knows our password,’ Hermione said.

‘Except Sherlock and Castiel,’ Ron pointed out.

‘They wouldn’t do this,’ John frowned.

‘No of course not, I’m just saying that they might not be the only ones that know our password.’

‘Still, who else knows about the diary?’

‘No idea,’ Harry said grimly.

 

The next morning, they awoke to brilliant sunshine and a light, refreshing breeze.

‘Perfect Quidditch conitions!’ Wood said enthusiastically, loading the team’s plates with scrambled eggs.

Sherlock’s eyes were darting up and down the Gryffindor table, suspicious of everyone since they informed him of the robbery.

‘Will you stop?’ John hissed, nudging him with an elbow. ‘You won’t be able to tell who it is just by looking at them.’

‘You’d think,’ Sherlock grunted, continuing to watch. He caught Ginny’s eyes for a moment, but she looked away hastily, stabbing at the eggs that had been on her plate for the last ten minutes.

‘Poor Ginny,’ John said, seeing what Sherlock was looking at. ‘I wouldn’t want to be a first-year with all this happening. They must be really frightened.’

Sherlock shrugged.

Ron and Hermione left with Harry to collect his Quidditch things and John pushed his plate of eggs away, suddenly queasy.

‘Come on, let’s get down to the pitch before all the good seats are gone,’ he said.

He, Sherlock and Castiel headed out into the grounds and John began to feel very hot. He fanned his red face with his hand.

‘It’s hot out here,’ he said. ‘Are you hot?’

‘No, not really,’ Sherlock frowned.

The three of them slowed down as John’s breath became shallow.

‘What’s happening?’ he gasped, tugging at his clothes.

Castiel pulled Sherlock out of John’s immediate space and reached a hand out to him.

‘It’s all right, John. I think you’re having a panic attack,’ he said calmly, firmly keeping Sherlock back.

‘No, no, no, something’s not right,’ John said, looking around wildly.

Sherlock pushed Castiel out of his way and put his hands on John’s shoulders. A shock ran through him, his vision dimmed and, instead of the grass around them, he saw an image of Hermione stood like a statue with a mirror in one hand, Petrified. The image cleared and Sherlock found himself and John kneeling on the ground. A crowd of people that were on their way down to the pitch had gathered around them curiously, though quickly dispersed as the beginning of the match drew nearer.

John vomited into the grass and collapsed onto his side, shaking violently. Sherlock remained still, too shocked by what he had seen to move.

Castiel moved over to John, who was unresponsive at first, but with a little coaxing made some feeble grunting noises and managed to prop himself up on his elbows.

‘What the hell..?’ he groaned.

‘Careful, careful,’ Castiel said, quickly helping him into a sitting position.

‘Are you all right?’ John asked, spotting Sherlock’s pale face.

Sherlock nodded slowly.

By now, everyone else had packed into the stadium and as they got unsteadily to their feet, they saw Professor McGonagall rush past with a giant purple megaphone.

‘I think something has happened,’ Sherlock said.

‘What do you mean?’ John asked, stumbling on the spot.

It wasn’t long until they found out. On their way back to the castle, they heard Professor McGonagall’s amplified voice from inside the stadium.

‘This match has been cancelled,’ they heard her say. ‘All students will make their way back to their house common rooms, where their Heads of Houses will give them further information. As quickly as you can, please!’

‘That doesn’t sound good,’ John said.

‘Let’s get up to the hospital wing before we get caught in the rush,’ said Castiel.

‘Do we have to?’ John groaned.

Castiel looked at him like he was mad.

‘Of course you do, John, you’re still shaking. You both do.’

‘But McGonagall said – ‘

‘She’ll understand,’ Castiel said firmly.

‘Fine,’ John grumbled. ‘I just feel like I’m in there every other week.

‘Better safe than sorry,’ Castiel said, leading the way.

They reached the door to the hospital wing where Madam Pomfrey was stood.

‘Castiel,’ she said. ‘Where’s Professor McGonagall?’

Castiel looked confused and she sighed.

‘I suppose you’d better come in. There’s been another attack. Another _double_ attack,’ she told them.

Madam Pomfrey opened the door and led them through.

‘This will be a bit of a shock,’ she said gently.

First they saw the Ravenclaw Prefect, Penelope Clearwater, her long curly hair pushed back from her frozen, shocked expression. Then, on the bed beside her, lay Hermione. Castiel sank into the chair beside her bed and John rushed to the sink to vomit again. Sherlock stood by her side, looking over her, hands trembling slightly. Something was missing.

‘Where’s the mirror?’ he asked Madam Pomfrey, who was bent over Penelope.

‘Mirror? What mirror?’

‘She- she had a mirror…’ he trailed off.

Castiel looked at him quizzically.

‘I-I think John showed me something when I touched him, but I’m not certain,’ Sherlock muttered to him.

‘Really? Do you think he knows?’

‘No, it wasn’t a conscious choice.’

Madam Pomfrey helped John to the bed on Hermione’s other side just as Professor McGonagall entered the ward, accompanied by Ron, and Harry in his scarlet Quidditch robes.

‘ _Hermione_ ,’ Ron groaned as he saw her.

‘They were found outside the library,’ Professor McGonagall explained. ‘Can any of you explain this? It was on the floor next to them…’

She held up a small, rounded mirror, addressing the five of them. None of them could offer an answer but Sherlock snatched it from her hand, recognising it as the one he saw, and feverishly examined it, hoping for some sort of clue. When it yielded nothing to him, he threw it down on the nightstand in disgust.

‘Sorry, Professor,’ he said, noticing her disdain at his treatment of their one and only clue.

Professor McGonagall grimaced.

‘If Holmes is offering apologies of his own accord, then we must truly be in trouble. Madam Pomfrey, are these three fit to return to their dormitories? I assume they are in here for a reason.’

Madam Pomfrey, who had been examining John, nodded.

‘I think it would be best, Professor – safer,’ she said

‘Very well, I shall escort you all back to Gryffindor tower. You two will spend the night there,’ she said to Sherlock and Castiel, ‘I need to address the students in any case.’

 

‘All students will return to their house common rooms by six o’clock in the evening. No student is to leave the dormitories after this time. You will be escorted to each lesson by a teacher. No student is to use the bathroom unaccompanied by a teacher. All further Quidditch training and matches are to be postponed. There will be no more evening activities.’

Everyone packed inside the common room listened to Professor McGonagall in silence. She rolled up the parchment she had been reading from and said in a somewhat choked voice, ‘I need hardly add that I have rarely been so distressed. It is likely that the school will be closed unless the culprit behind these attacks is caught. I would urge anyone who thinks they know something to come forward.’

She climbed somewhat awkwardly out of the portrait hole, and the Gryffindors began talking immediately. Lee Jordan started saying loudly that all the Slytherins should be thrown out. Harry gestured for Ron, Sherlock, John and Castiel to follow him up to the dormitory. Once up there, they sat around the room. Two beds with Ravenclaw hangings had been added to the room.

‘We need to talk to Hagrid,’ Harry said.

‘Do you think they suspect him?’ Ron asked.

‘They must if he was expelled for it last time,’ said Sherlock.

Castiel frowned.

‘I still don’t believe that it was him.’

‘We have to know for sure,’ Harry told him. ‘I don’t think it was him this time, but f it was him before then he knows how to get into the Chamber, and that’s a start.’

‘We’ve got no chance of seeing him now though,’ said John. ‘The teachers will be patrolling the all corridors.’

‘I’ve got my Cloak,’ Harry pointed out.

‘D’you think that’ll work?’

‘I don’t see why not. Only thing is, we won’t all fit under it.’

They all looked at each other.

‘Well, I don’t mind staying,’ John said, relieved. He still felt a little off.

‘I’ll stay with John,’ Castiel decided.

‘That settles that, then,’ Sherlock said.

They all went to bed at the usual time, waited for Neville, Dean and Seamus to fall asleep, then got dressed again. The three of them going down to Hagrid’s threw the Cloak over themselves and Castiel helped them make sure that it was covering their feet and let them out of the portrait hole. He went back upstairs and he and John attempted to get some sleep while they waited for Harry, Ron and Sherlock.

John fell into a restless sleep and dreams of monsters plagued him, accompanied by a disembodied hissing. He tossed and whimpered in his sleep and jolted upright when a set of evil, yellow eyes came at him. He rubbed his face and sighed. With no point in going back to sleep now, John pushed himself out of bed and went downstairs to sit beside the fire. For a while he sat entranced by the flames until he felt a presence. He turned and jumped as he found Castiel standing directly beside him.

‘Bloody hell! What are you doing?’

‘Do you have many nightmares?’ Castiel asked, sitting down in another chair.

‘Sometimes. I don’t usually remember my dreams – or nightmares. This was different though,’ John said quietly.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Usually they feel more – distant. Cloudy. But this was very immediate and a lot more… scary I suppose.’

Castiel made himself more comfortable and curled his legs up.

‘What did you dream of?’ he asked curiously.

John shook his head.

‘Monsters mostly. Big ones. Like the one Harry told us about from Riddle’s diary. It was noisy and I was running. And there were eyes.’ John shuddered at the thought of them. ‘Evil eyes.’

Castiel was sympathetic.

‘It’s important to get rest when you can. I tend to take a nap in the afternoon after class,’ he told John. ‘Nightmares can be tricky to deal with, but it’s not impossible.’

‘You get them too?’

Castiel nodded.

‘Bad?’

Castiel nodded again, slower.

‘Go on, then, what are yours about?’

Castiel didn’t say anything for a minute, watching the flames dance in the fireplace.

‘I dream of my mother and the day she died,’ he said without meeting John’s eyes. ‘It was – she was an excellent potion maker. But this one – exploded.’

Castiel clasped his hands together tightly.

‘I was there. I see it nearly every night – feel it on my skin.’

He rubbed his arm uncomfortably, then slowly rolled up the sleeve. John’s eyes widened as Castiel revealed to him an angry, knotted scar that ran from just above his wrist and past the point that Castiel had rolled his sleeve to. It was like his skin had melted which, John realised, it probably had. Castiel turned slightly red and unrolled his sleeve self-consciously. A lot of things suddenly made sense to John.

‘Please don’t tell anyone. I’m not ready for it to be common knowledge,’ Castiel implored.

‘I understand,’ John smiled.

Just then, the portrait hole opened and when it closed again, Harry ripped off the Cloak. He sat down on the sofa with his head in his hands. Ron kicked at a chair angrily and stomped around the room.

‘What?’ John asked. ‘What happened?’

Harry shook his head.

‘The Minister for Magic turned up and arrested Hagrid,’ he said.

‘ _What?’_

_‘No!’_

‘ _Horrible_ little man,’ Sherlock said scathingly. ‘Utterly useless.’

‘And,’ Harry continued. ‘Lucius Malfoy got the governors of the school to sign Dumbledore’s Order of Suspension.’

‘Wait, does that mean..?’

‘Yes. Dumbledore’s gone,’ Sherlock said quietly.

Castiel could not have looked more terrified in that moment.

‘W-what are we going to do?’ he asked.

‘It’s down to us, I suppose?’ John said, trying to keep calm.

‘Yes. Hagrid did give us one clue before he was taken. He told us to follow the spiders,’ Sherlock said. ‘You still won’t go home?’ he asked John.

John shook his head, though a lot less certain than he was last time Sherlock asked him to go home.

‘I’ll feed Fang while Hagrid is away,’ Castiel said. ‘Gabriel will escort me down there.’

Ron groaned, finally tired of raging around the room. He sat down next to Castiel.

‘There’ll be an attack a day with Dumbledore gone,’ he groaned.

The five of them sat up the rest of the night, not able to sleep knowing that their best protection had been taken away.


	12. Aragog

Aragog

Castiel looked out of the window in his dormitory at the summer kissed grounds. Flowers were blooming through the grass and it looked peaceful, yet to Castiel it felt wrong. Without Hagrid striding through the grounds with Fang at his side, the summer might as well be on the other side of a glass wall. It did not penetrate the inside of the castle at all, where everyone walked around tense and unnaturally quiet.

They tried to visit Hermione but were barred by Madam Pomfrey.

'We're not taking any more chances,' she told them through a crack in the door. 'No, I'm sorry, there's every chance the attacker will come back to finish these people off...'

She'd even banned Castiel, who walked around despondently, not knowing what to do with himself or where he would be safe.

Dumbledore's departure had spread fear through the castle in waves and caused many of the students to appreciate being shepherded to and from lessons by teachers. It greatly irritated Sherlock, however, who became restless at being cooped up in Ravenclaw tower most of the time, and only being able to see John at meal times.

Hagrid's hint had been easy enough to understand, but none of them had seen a single spider in weeks, which Ron was far from devastated about. Hampered as they were by not being allowed to wander off on their own, they had no opportunity to search for any.

The Gryffindors were led down to Herbology by Snape one day and the lesson was very subdued. Two of their number were missing: Justin and Hermione.

John set to work on his Abyssinian Shrivelfig and Molly came over to him.

'Here you are, best shears in the greenhouse,' she said with feigned brightness.

John smiled at her.

'Ernie thinks that Draco Malfoy is the heir of Slytherin now,' she said, gesturing at Ernie, who was shaking Harry's hand.

John snorted.

'I take it that means you've already ruled him out,' she smiled. 'I'm sorry about Hermione.'

'Yeah, me too.'

'You must be scared,' she said sympathetically.

'No more than anyone else…'

John trailed off as he saw several large spiders scurrying through the greenhouse. He watched them as they headed towards the Forbidden Forest.

'John?'

He looked back at Molly and realised she'd still been talking.

'Molly, I'm so sorry. I'm just distracted since Hermione…'

'I understand, don't worry.'

John smiled at her warmly.

'Thanks.'

As they were escorted to Defense Against the Dark Arts, John lagged behind with Harry and Ron, out of earshot of the others.

'Did you see the spiders?' he asked.

'Yes,' Ron said moodily. 'Fun in the Forest. Can't wait.'

'We'll have to use the Invisibility Cloak again,' said Harry, 'and we'll bring Fang. He practically lives in the Forest, he might be some help.'

They had just taken their seats when Lockhart came bounding into the room. John frowned in disgust.

'Why all these long faces?' he cried. 'Don't you know that the danger has passed?'

The class exchanged exasperated looks but said nothing. Suddenly, Sherlock emerged from Lockhart's office rubbing his head.

'Mr Holmes, what are you still doing here?' Lockhart frowned. 'Well, you might as well stay. No wandering alone in the corridors after all. Why don't you go and sit over there with Mr Watson?'

'What's going on?' John whispered to him as he sat down.

Sherlock shook his head.

'I don't – understand,' Sherlock said, sounding dazed and confused. 'Why are you here?'

'Sherlock, this is my lesson. Why are _you_ here?'

'This is _my_ lesson.'

'Be quiet back there, thank you,' Lockhart called to them. 'Don't you people realise that you're safe now? The culprit has been taken away!'

'Says who?' Dean Thomas said loudly.

'My dear, young man. The Minister for Magic wouldn't have taken Hagrid away unless he had been one hundred percent certain that he was guilty.'

'Oh, yes he would,' Ron said even louder than Dean.

'I think I know a _touch_ more about Hagrid's arrest than you do, Mr Weasley,' Lockhart said smugly.

John grew increasingly angry throughout the course of the lesson, as Lockhart hinted repeatedly that he had always know that Hagrid had been up to something, and that he was no good. John could hardly stand it, but he knew he would not be able to leave the lesson as he had done previously, without either Lockhart or Sherlock stopping him, despite Sherlock's apparent vacancy. Instead, he looked at Hermione's empty seat and decided that he would go in search of the spiders that night, alone if he had to.

It transpired that Harry had been just as annoyed by Lockhart as John had been and was easily convinced to accompany him into the Forest. John had also decided not to tell Sherlock or Castiel of his plans, as he felt that neither of them were in a fit state to be in the Forest, even if they could find a way to sneak everyone out of the castle. In any case, he didn't want them to worry.

The Gryffindor common room was very crowded after dinner, as it often was lately, and it was well past midnight by the time it had fully emptied. Harry, who had been sitting on the Invisibility Cloak since dinner, seized it and threw it over the three of them and they climbed out of the portrait hole.

It was a difficult journey through the castle, dodging all the teachers on patrol and wincing at every creak and whine the front doors made as they squeezed through them.

A crisp wind blew around them as they crossed the moonlit grounds. They reached Hagrid's sorry-looking house with its empty windows and Fang went mad with joy at the sight of them. Harry folded up the Cloak and left it on the table. They went to leave but Ron hesitated.

'Maybe they weren't going towards the Forest,' he said, a desperate note to his voice. 'I know it looked like they were going in that sort of direction but…'

John grimaced.

'Come on, Ron. We'll be back before you know it,' he said reassuringly.

Ron swallowed and then followed them out of the door.

The Forest was pitch black and Harry lit the end of his wand with, ' _Lumos!'_

John did the same so that they could watch the ground for spiders.

'I'd light mine too but it'd probably blow up or something…'

Harry eventually found the trail of spiders and Ron sighed deeply, resigned to the worst. As they walked through the trees, John felt oddly relaxed and comfortable navigated of the twisted tree roots, without so much as a misstep. Fang scampered around him and he had to slow down several times to wait for Harry and Ron. After a while the trees became thicker and closer together, and the ground began to slope downwards. They were walking in silence, so when Fang let loose a great, booming bark, the three of them jumped out of their skin. Ron grabbed Harry's elbow and looked around, trying to see through the darkness.

'What is it, boy?' John asked Fang, scratching him behind the ears.

'There's something over there,' Harry breathed. 'Something big.'

Something fairly large was snapping branches as it carved its way through the trees.

'Oh no,' said Ron. 'Oh no, oh no, oh-'

'Shut up!' Harry said frantically. 'It'll hear you!'

'Hear _me?_ It's already heard Fang!' Ron squeaked.

There was a strange, rumbling sound, then silence. They stood, waiting for whatever it was to pounce on them, and a blaze of light blinded them. Fang yelped and tried to run but got caught in a tangle of brambles, causing him to yelp louder.

'No way!' Ron shouted. 'It's our car!'

' _What?'_

'Come on!'

Ron ran towards the light, Harry and John close behind. A moment later they crashed into a clearing and John thought his eyes were playing tricks on him. In the middle of the clearing was an empty, turquoise Ford Anglia.

'It's been here this whole time!' Ron exclaimed delightedly. 'The Forest's turned it wild!'

'Hang on a minute, is this the flying one?' John asked.

'Yeah,' Ron grinned. 'I wondered where it had gone.'

As Ron walked around the car and patted it on the roof, John caught a movement out of the corner of his eye. He looked up and froze in fear. Staring down at them were four gargantuan, hairy spiders. Before he could so much as open his mouth to warn the others, the spiders made some loud clicking noises and seized each of them, including Fang who thrashed and whined loudly, by two of their impossibly long legs. John felt completely limp. If he hadn't had a fear of spiders before, he would be shocked if he didn't now.

He didn't know exactly how long they were captive of the spiders for. It was too dark to be able to keep track of time or where they were going, but eventually the darkness lifted enough to see that they had stopped at the rim of a vast hollow. The spiders dropped them and walked towards the area that had been cleared of trees, where spiders the size of horses were clearly visible, and up to a large, domed web. John looked at the other two; Ron's face was stuck in an expression of sheer terror, eyes popping and his mouth stretched out in a silent scream. Suddenly he realised that the spiders were saying something, though it was hard to tell past the constant clicking sounds they made with their pincers.

'Aragog! Aragog!' they called.

From within the domed web, a spider the size of a small elephant emerged. There was grey in the black of his body and each one of his eight eyes was milky white. He was blind.

'What is it?' Aragog said, clicking his pincers together.

'Men,' clicked one of the spiders.

'Is it Hagrid?' said Aragog, moving closer.

'Strangers.'

'Kill them,' Aragog clicked. 'I was sleeping…'

'We're friends of Hagrid's,' Harry shouted, still on all fours where the spider had dropped him.

Aragog paused and John thought his heart my stop completely.

'Hagrid has never sent men into our hollow before,' Aragog said slowly.

'Hagrid's in trouble,' Harry told him. 'That's why we've come.'

John was impressed with Harry's ability to speak. He wouldn't have been able to himself and may as well have been Petrified for the amount he could move.

'In trouble?' said the aged spider, a touch of concern in his voice. 'But why has he sent you?'

'They think, up at the school, that Hagrid's been setting some sort of monster on students. They've taken him to Azkaban.'

Aragog clicked his pincers furiously, which was echoed around the hollow by the other spiders. It sounded like applause, only applause didn't usually make John's blood run cold.

'But that was years ago,' Aragog said fretfully. 'Years and years ago. I remember it well. That's why they made him leave the school. They believed _I_ was the monster that dwells in what they call the Chamber of Secrets. They thought that Hagrid had opened the Chamber and set me free…'

John Felt a small twinge of hope through his hear, enabling him to speak up.

'You… you didn't come from the Chamber of Secrets?' he said.

'I was not born in the castle,' Aragog clicked angrily. 'I came from a distant land. A traveller gave me to Hagrid as an egg. Hagrid was only a boy, but he cared for me, hidden in a cupboard, feeding me scraps from the table. Hagrid is my good friend and a good man. When I was discovered and blamed for the death of a girl, he protected me and brought me to the Forest where I have lived ever since. Hagrid still visits me and even found me a wife, Mosag, and see how our family has grown through his goodness…'

'So you never… never attacked anyone?' Harry asked, struggling to keep his voice steady.

'Never,' croaked Aragog. 'It would have been my instinct, but from respect for Hagrid, I never harmed a human. The body of the girl who was killed was discovered in a bathroom. I never saw any part of the castle but the cupboard in which I grew up. Our kind like the dark and quiet…'

'But then… Do you know what _did_ kill the girl?' said Harry. 'Because whatever it is, it's back and attacking people again-'

Harry was drowned out by a sudden outbreak of loud clicking and the rustling of many long legs shifting angrily. Large black shapes moved all around them.

'The thing that lives in the castle,' said Aragog, 'is an ancient creature that we spiders fear above all else. Well do I remember how I begged Hagrid to let me go when I sensed it moving about the school.'

'What is it?' Harry urged.

More loud clicking and rustling and John felt a thrill through his body as he saw that they were closing in on them.

'We do not speak of it!' Aragog said fiercely. 'We do not name it! I never even told Hagrid the name of that dread creature, though he asked me, many times.'

Aragog seemed to grow tired of talking and began to back away into his web, but his fellow spiders continued to inch closer.

'We'll just go, then,' Harry called desperately.

'Go?' Aragog said slowly. 'I think not. My sons and daughters do not harm Hagrid on my command, but I cannot deny them fresh meat when it wanders so willingly into our midst. Goodbye, friend of Hagrid.'

John turned, prepared to run the way they had come, but found himself face with a solid wall of black spiders. As he stared into their many gleaming eyes, he wished that he had told Sherlock, Castiel, anyone where they had gone. He raised his wand half-heartedly. There was nothing he could do. Just as he was about to give up hope, a long, low note sounded and a blaze of light flamed through the hollow.

The Weasley's car was thundering down the slope, headlamps gleaming, horn screeching and there, in the driver's seat, was Sherlock. He knocked several spiders aside; many were knocked on their backs and the car screeched to a halt in front of them. The doors flew open.

'Get in!' Sherlock yelled.

John immediately flew into the passenger seat.

'Get Fang!' Harry shouted, diving into the back seat.

Ron grabbed the boarhound by the middle and threw him, yelping, into the back of the car, then jumped in next to him. The doors slammed shut and the car accelerated away through the Forest, knocking spiders away as it went.

'What the _hell_ did you think you were doing?' Sherlock shouted, absolutely livid. ' _Why_ would you just _walk_ into an Acromantula nest? Have you lost your minds or do you just have a death wish?'

'How were we supposed to know what they were?' John snapped back, still shaking.

'Because it's _Hagrid!_ If Hagrid tells you to go _anywhere_ with _any_ kind of creature where do you think it's going to lead?'

'Well why didn't you say anything, then? Because excuse me for not knowing that giant spiders exist.'

'Because I didn't think you'd do anything so stupid as to _actually_ follow the spiders!'

'Okay, enough!' Harry said. 'Sherlock, I think we've learned our lesson.'

Sherlock sat with his hands on the wheel, fuming, as the car made its way through the trees.

'Can you drive?' John asked.

'No, John, I can't drive,' Sherlock snapped. 'The car brought me to you. It drives itself.'

The car stopped abruptly at the edge of the Forest and shot them all out of their seats. Fang rocketed immediately towards Hagrid's hut and the rest of them followed, Harry giving the car a grateful pat as it reversed back into the Forest.

They all sat around in Hagrid's house, quietly attempting to recover from their ordeal before making their way back to the castle.

'How did you get out?' John asked Sherlock.

'Lockhart wasn't on his rounds tonight. Pretty stupid of him considering he was in optimal position between Ravenclaw tower and the front doors,' he said, rubbing his face. 'You were lucky.'

'Are you all right?' Harry asked Ron.

He shook his head.

'I'll never forgive Hagrid,' Ron said quietly. 'He always thinks monsters aren't as bad as they're made out to be and look where it's got him! A cell in Azkaban! What was the point in sending us in there? What have we found out, I'd like to know?'

'What _did_ you find out?' Sherlock asked.

'That Hagrid never opened the Chamber of Secrets,' said Harry. 'He was innocent.'

Ron snorted. Evidently, hatching Aragog in a cupboard wasn't his idea of being innocent.

'That still doesn't help us though,' John said grimly. 'We still don't know what the monster is or how it Petrifies or anything.

'What else did you find out,' Sherlock urged.

'Er, that spiders are afraid of whatever the monster is, that Aragog never attacked anyone and that he's not the monster in the Chamber,' John said, hoping that anything would spark Sherlock's mind.

'How do you know?'

'He said that the girl that died the first time was found in a bathroom and that he never left the cupboard he was born in.'

Sherlock sat up very suddenly.

'What? What is it?'

'A bathroom… What if the girl that died never _left_ the bathroom?' Sherlock said.

'Wait, you don't think...?'

' _Yes!_ It was _Moaning Myrtle!'_


	13. The Chamber of Secrets

The Chamber of Secrets

The next day at breakfast, Castiel listened wide-eyed as they told him what had happened.

‘I knew that it wasn’t Hagrid,’ he said triumphantly.

‘Yeah, but he still almost got us killed,’ Ron said grumpily.

Castiel shrugged.

‘All we need now is to find a way into Myrtle’s bathroom,’ Sherlock said.

‘Yeah, that’ll be easy,’ said Harry.

Just then Seamus came up to them.

‘Have you heard?’ he said. ‘We still have to do exams!’

‘ _What?’_ Ron cried.

‘Well I should think so!’ said Percy, who had been listening. ‘We should be aiming to keep things as normal as possible.’

John snorted but said nothing.

‘How am I supposed to do exams with this?’ Ron spluttered, holding up the wand that he was attempting to Spellotape together again.

 

Three days before their first exam, Professor McGonagall made an announcement at breakfast.

‘I have good news!’ she said.

Instead of falling silent, the Great Hall erupted in speculation. Professor McGonagall waited for the hubbub to subside and said, ‘Professor Sprout has informed me that the Mandrakes are ready for cutting at last. Tonight, we will be able to revive those people who have been Petrified. I need hardly remind you all that one of them may well be able to tell us who, or what, attacked them. I am hopeful that this dreadful year will end with us catching the culprit.’

There was an explosion of cheering.

‘It won’t matter that we never had a chance to talk to Myrtle,’ Ron said happily. ‘Hermione’ll probably have all the answers when they wake her up!’

‘Might be kinder to leave her where she is until after the exams,’ John joked. ‘She hasn’t done any revision yet and she’ll go mad!’

Everyone gave an appreciative chuckle.

‘Mr Edlund!’ a voice squeaked from behind them.

They turned and saw Professor Flitwick approaching Castiel.

‘Yes, Professor?’ Castiel said politely.

‘You are excused from afternoon lessons today. Madam Pomfrey has asked for your assistance in the hospital wing.’

‘Oh,’ Castiel said, surprised. ‘Thank you for letting me know, Professor.’

‘I will escort you after our Charms lesson today.’

Professor Flitwick then disappeared. Once he had gone, Ginny came over and sat next to Ron, looking nervous.

‘What’s up?’ said Ron, spooning porridge into his bowl.

Ginny didn’t say anything, but she looked up and down the table, shifting around in her seat.

‘Spit it out,’ said Ron, watching her.

She rocked backwards and forwards in her seat.

‘I’ve got to tell you something,’ she mumbled.

‘What is it?’ John asked, a strange feeling coming over him.

Ginny opened her mouth but no sound came out. Harry leaned in and murmured something to her, but just as she drew in a deep breath, Percy appeared looking tired.

‘If you’ve finished eating, Ginny, I’ll take that seat. I’m starving; I’ve only just got off patrol duty.’

Ginny jumped up as if she’d been electrocuted and scurried away.

‘ _Percy!’_ Ron said angrily. ‘She was just about to tell us something important!’

Percy choked on the mug of tea he had been drinking.

‘What sort of thing?’ he coughed.

‘I just asked her if she’d seen anything odd, and she started to say-‘

‘Oh- that – that’s nothing to do with the Chamber of Secrets,’ Percy said.

‘How do you know?’ said Ron.

‘Well, er if you must know, Ginny er, walked in on me the other day when I was – well, never mind – the point is, she spotted me doing something and I, um, I asked her not to mention it to anyone. I must say, I did think she’d keep her word. It’s nothing, really.’

John couldn’t get rid of the strange feeling collecting in his chest, and as he watched Ginny retreat from the Great Hall, his legs lifted him from his seat.

‘I’m just going to talk to Ginny,’ John murmured to Harry, quiet enough so that Percy wouldn’t hear him, and followed her out.

 

Castiel quietly watched Sherlock throughout their Transfiguration lesson. He transfigured his shrew into a candlestick and back again as easily as he always had, but something was off. He seemed almost vacant, switching the shrew back and forth absent-mindedly.

‘What’s wrong?’ Castiel asked.

‘I don’t know why everyone keeps asking me that,’ Sherlock said.

He shrugged and Castiel abandoned the question, not wanting to get in trouble with Professor McGonagall.

Later on, Professor McGonagall was escorting them to Potions and Castiel hung back a little with Sherlock.

‘Please tell me what’s going on, Sherlock, I’m your friend,’ said Castiel.

‘There’s nothing wrong with me, hon-‘

Sherlock was cut off by a white hot surge of pain through his body. He fell against the wall with his arms wrapped around himself.

‘Sherlock!’ Castiel cried in alarm.

Sherlock barely heard him. A loud buzzing had filled his head and he gasped as a wave of pain once again washed over him. Castiel reached for him.

‘Don’t!’ Sherlock grunted, feeling as though he shouldn’t be touched.

He felt an inexplicable pull down the corridor and found it impossible to resist.

‘John! Something’s wrong with John!’ he gasped

He stumbled away down the corridor.

‘ _Sherlock!’_

Castiel realised that the group had carried on without them and was suddenly very aware of how alone they were. He followed Sherlock, not wanting to leave him wandering the corridors by himself.

Sherlock’s body now felt very cold and stiff, yet the pull was becoming stronger. He stumbled around a corner and stopped dead, feeling as if he’d walked head on into a brick wall. Castiel came around the corner as well and Sherlock heard him cry out. The buzzing in his head had stopped and everything was silent but for the beating of his own heart.

They were in the corridor with Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom, and a little way up from the door stood John, Petrified, in almost exactly the same spot as Mrs Norris. New words, gleaming red, had been written under ‘ _Enemies of the heir, beware’_ that said, ‘ _Her skeleton will lie in the chamber forever’._

Sherlock approached John, fighting through his shock and the odd, empty feeling in the back of his mind. Unlike the others that had been found, John was frozen in a way that suggested he had just been standing there when he had been attacked. One hand in his pocket, the other holding a small, plastic pink mirror. Sherlock examined the mirror curiously, trying to figure out why on earth John would have this. He placed a hand on John’s stiff arm and he was suddenly bombarded by images, thoughts and feelings. The fog that had been on his mind all year was suddenly lifted and the more he saw, the more the gravity of the situation sunk in, and the more anger he felt With nothing to take it out on, he stormed up and down the corridor.

‘It’s all right, Sherlock,’ Castiel said, trying to calm Sherlock down, despite shaking badly himself. ‘The Mandrakes are ready so he’ll be fine tomorrow.’

‘Yes, I know that. That’s not the point. That _useless_ human being Lockhart has been erasing my memory all year.’

‘What?’

Before he could explain, Professor McGonagall appeared, looking thunderous.

‘You two! What are you – oh, my goodness!’

She clutched her chest as she saw John and the writing on the wall.

‘Professor,’ Sherlock said, addressing her calmly. ‘I believe that the person who has been taken into the Chamber is Ginny Weasley. She and John both left breakfast early this morning.’

Professor McGonagall nodded gravely.

‘Both of you follow me. I will take you to the staff room and under no circumstances are you to leave alone. Understand?’

‘Yes, Professor.’

Once she had taken them to the staff room, she left them alone, but neither of them could relax enough to sit down.

‘What did you mean about Professor Lockhart?’ Castiel asked tentatively.

Sherlock clenched his jaw.

‘I found out that he’s a complete fraud. He’s been taking credit for other wizards’ achievements. I discovered it in one of the newspapers in the library. There was a short article about the wizard that defeated that yeti Lockhart’s always talking about. I suppose he hadn’t managed to get rid of it. Anyway, I confronted him about it and he erased my memory but never managed to make me forget I was investigating him.’

‘That’s terrible!’ Castiel said, appalled.

Sherlock shook his head.

‘The worst part is that I’ve known what the monster of Slytherin is this whole time and he’s made me forget all year.’

Castiel blinked rapidly.

‘How- how do you know now? How have you remembered?’

‘I’m not sure exactly how, but when I touched John, the charm was broken.’

Castiel nodded slowly, thinking hard.

‘What is the monster?’

Before Sherlock could reply, the door opened and Harry and Ron burst in. They looked at each other in surprise.

‘What are you doing in here?’ Ron asked.

‘What are _you_ doing in here?’ said Sherlock.

Just then, Professor McGonagall’s magically magnified voice echoed through the corridors.

‘ _All students are to return to their house dormitories at once. All teacher report to the staff room. Immediately please.’_

Ron gaped.

‘Not another attack. Not now.’

‘The teachers will be here soon. You have to hide,’ Castiel said urgently.

Ron tried to protest, but Castiel silenced him and shoved them both into an ugly wardrobe filled with teachers’ cloaks. The door banged open and teachers filtered in looking puzzled, especially once they saw Sherlock and Castiel. Professor McGonagall arrived and the room fell silent.

‘It has happened,’ she told them. ‘A student has been taken by the monster right into the Chamber itself.’

Professor Flitwick let out a squeal. Professor Sprout clapped a hand over her mouth.

Snape gripped the back of a chair and said, ‘How can you be sure? And why are these two here?’

‘The heir of Slytherin has left a message, right underneath the first one. _Her skeleton will lie in the Chamber forever.’_

Professor Flitwick burst into tears.

‘John Watson has also been Petrified. These two found him by the message so I brought them here for their safety.’

‘Who is it?’ said Madam Hooch, who had sunk, weak-kneed, into a chair. ‘Which student has been taken?’

‘Ginny Weasley,’ said Professor McGonagall.

‘Professor, excuse my interruption, but I believe I know what the monster is,’ said Sherlock.

All the teachers turned to face him incredulously.

‘By all means, tell us what you think,’ Professor McGonagall said seriously.

‘I think it’s a Basilisk, Professor.’

The teachers all muttered nervously. Professor McGonagall sighed.

‘Holmes, are you sure?’

‘It’s a giant snake Professor, what else would the monster of Slytherin be?’

‘I fear you’re right. We shall have to send the students home tomorrow…’

The staff room door banged open again and in came Lockhart, beaming widely.

‘So sorry – dozed off – what have I missed?’

Sherlock balled his fists and Castiel had to hold him back. Lockhart’s smile faltered a little when he saw the fury on Sherlock’s face. Snape then stepped forward.

‘Just the man,’ he said nastily. ‘The very man. A girl has been snatched by the heir of Slytherin, Lockhart. Taken into the Chamber of Secrets itself. Your moment has come at last.’

Lockhart blanched.

‘That’s right, Gilderoy,’ chipped in Professor Sprout. ‘Weren’t you saying just last night that you’ve known all along where the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets is?’

‘I – well, I – ‘ Lockhart spluttered.

‘Yes, didn’t you tell me you were sure you knew exactly what was inside it?’ piped up Professor Flitwick.

‘D-did I? I don’t recall…’

‘I certainly remember you saying you were sorry you hadn’t had a crack at the monster before Hagrid was arrested,’ said Snape. ‘Didn’t you say that the whole affair had been mishandled, and that you should have been given free reign from the first?’

Lockhart stared around at his stony-faced colleagues.

‘I-I really never… You may have misunderstood…’

‘We’ll leave it to you, then Gilderoy,’ said Professor McGonagall. ‘Tonight will be an excellent time to do it. We’ll make sure everyone’s out of your way. You’ll be able to tackle the monster all by yourself. A free reign at last.’

Lockhart gazed around at them desperately, but no one came to his rescue. Sherlock felt a savage satisfaction as Lockhart’s lip trembled and, without his usual toothy grin, he looked weak-chinned and weedy. Sherlock turned to grin at Castiel, but stopped himself at the look of bitter disappointment on Castiel’s face.

‘V-very well,’ said Lockhart. ‘I’ll- I’ll be in my office, getting – getting ready.’

And he left the room.

‘Right,’ said Professor McGonagall, whose nostrils were flared, ‘that’s got _him_ out of the way. Heads of Houses should go and inform their students what has happened. Tell them the Hogwarts Express will take them first thing in the morning. Professor Sinistra, will you please escort Mr Edlund to the hospital wing? Madam Pomfrey still requests his presence. Will the rest of you please make sure no students have been left outside their dormitories?’

In the flurry of action, Sherlock quietly approached Professor McGonagall.

‘Professor, may I stay in Gryffindor tower tonight?’ he asked.

‘Why would you want to do that?’ she said sharply.

Sherlock fidgeted a little.

‘I- I don’t want to be – alone…’ he mumbled.

Professor McGonagall’s gaze softened.

‘Very well, Sherlock. You may come with me.’

 

Sherlock pace backwards and forwards in the Gryffindor common room. Harry and the Weasleys all sat, quiet and pale in the corner. Eventually Fred and George went up to their dormitory, unable to sit in the subdued common room any longer, and Sherlock calmed himself so that he could sit with Harry and Ron.

‘She knew something,’ Ron said. ‘That’s why she was taken. It wasn’t some stupid thing about Percy at all. She’d found out something about the Chamber of Secrets. That must be why she was… I mean, she’s a pure-blood. There can’t be any other reason.’

Harry grimaced.

‘How did you find out about the Basilisk?’ he asked Sherlock.

‘I already knew,’ he said bitterly. ‘Lockhart erased it from my memory.’

‘Wait, you can do that?’

‘Yes.’

Harry pulled a scrap of paper from his pocket and handed it to Sherlock.

‘Hermione had that in her hand.’

He unfurled it and read the paragraph that was written on it.

 

_One of the many fearsome beasts that roam our land, there none more_

_curious or deadly than the Basilisk, known as the King of Serpents. This_

_snake, which may reach gigantic size, and live many hundreds of years,_

_born from a chicken’s egg hatched beneath a toad. Its methods of killing_

_are most wondrous, for aside from its deadly and venomous fangs, the_

_Basilisk has a murderous stare, and all who are fixed with the beam of its_

_eye shall suffer instant death. Spiders flee before the Basilisk, for it is their_

_mortal enemy, and the Basilisk flees only from the crowing of the rooster,_

_which is fatal to it._

Sherlock nodded.

‘No one caught a look at it full in the face,’ he said.

‘No. Colin had his camera and Justin saw it through Nearly- Headless Nick,’ said Harry.

‘And John and Hermione had mirrors. Mrs Norris?’

‘She saw it in the reflection of the flood from Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom. It’s been getting around through the plumbing – Hermione says so there – and we think the entrance to the Chamber is in Myrtle’s bathroom.’

‘That makes sense, since it killed her last time.’

‘Yeah. We were in the staff room to tell them what we know, but…’

Harry shrugged.

Ron, who had been getting increasingly restless, said, ‘D’you think there’s any chance that she’s not – you know –‘

Neither of them knew what to say, nor could they see how Ginny could still be alive.

‘I think we should go and see Lockhart,’ Ron said, standing up. ‘We should tell him what we know. He’s going to try and get into the Chamber. We can tell him where we think it is, and tell him it’s a Basilisk in there.’

‘That sounds like an excellent idea,’ Sherlock said, jumping up.

The Gryffindors around them, miserable as they were at having lost five of their number, felt so sorry for the Weasleys that no one stopped them as they left through the portrait hole.

It was almost dark once they reached Lockhart’s office and there seemed to be a lot of activity going on inside. They could hear scraping, thumps and hurried footsteps.

Harry knocked and there was a sudden silence, then the door cracked open and they saw one of Lockhart’s eyes peering through it.

‘Oh, Mr Potter, Mr Weasley… Holmes… I’m rather busy at the moment-‘

‘We’ll only be a minute,’ Sherlock said brightly, barging through the door. Once he was inside, he drew his wand and pointed it directly at Lockhart’s nose. He backed away but the three boys followed him.

The office had been stripped bare, books and robes hastily stuffed into trunks by the desk.

‘Going somewhere?’ Sherlock accused.

‘Ah, yes, well, urgent call… unavoidable… got to go...’

‘What about my sister?’ Ron said jerkily.

‘Don’t bother,’ Sherlock snarled, shoving his wand closer to Lockhart’s face. ‘Do you have any idea what you’ve done? I knew what the monster was all along. I could have prevented the attacks.’

‘That’s neither here nor there,’ Lockhart stuttered.

‘So you’re running away?’ Harry said disbelievingly. ‘After all the stuff you wrote in your books?’

‘Books can be misleading.’

‘You wrote them!’ Harry shouted.

‘My dear boy,’ said Lockhart. ‘Do use your common sense. My books wouldn’t have sold half as well if people didn’t think _I’d_ done all those things. No one wants to read about some ugly old Armenian warlock, even if he did save a village from werewolves. He’d look dreadful on the front cover. No dress sense at all. And the witch who banished the Bandon Banshee had a hare lip. I mean, come on…’

Ron’s face twisted into a snarl.

‘I _knew_ there was something off about you. I thought it was just because you were a rubbish teacher.’

‘Now, now, Mr Weasley, I am good at some things. As Mr Holmes will attest to, my Memory Charms are particularly potent. Unfortunately though, boys, I can’t have you blabbering all my secrets. I don’t know how you broke my charm before, but this time you won’t even remember your own name.’

He whipped out his wand but as he opened his mouth, Sherlock bellowed, ‘ _Expelliarmus!’_ at the same time Harry did. Lockhart was blasted backwards and fell over one of his trunks. His wand flew high; Ron caught it and flung it out of the window.

‘Shouldn’t have let Professor Snape teach us that one,’ Harry said furiously, kicking one of Lockhart’s trunks aside.

Lockhart was looking up at him, weedy once more. Harry was still pointing his wand at him.

‘What d’you want me to do?’ Lockhart said weakly. ‘I don’t know where the Chamber of Secrets is. There’s nothing I can do.’

‘You’re in luck,’ said Harry, forcing Lockhart to his feet. ‘We think _we_ know where it is _and_ what’s inside it. Let’s go.’

They marched Lockhart out of his office and down to Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom. They sent him in first and were pleased to see him shaking.

Moaning Myrtle was sitting on the cistern of the end toilet.

‘Oh, it’s you,’ she said when she saw Harry. ‘What do you want this time?’

‘To ask you how you died,’ said Harry.

Myrtle’s whole demeanour changed at once. She looked as though she had never been asked such a flattering question.

‘Ooooh, it was dreadful,’ she said with relish. ‘It happened right in here. I died in this very cubicle I remember it so well. I’d hidden because Olive Hornby was teasing me about my glasses. The door was locked, and I was crying, and then I heard somebody come in. They said something funny. A different language, I think it must have been. Anyway, what really got me was that it was a _boy_ speaking. So I unlocked the door, to tell him to go and use his own toilet, and then – ‘ Myrtle swelled importantly, her face shining, ‘I _died.’_

‘How?’ Harry asked.

‘No idea,’ Myrtle said in hushed tones. ‘I just remember seeing a pair of great big yellow eyes. My whole body seized up, and then I was floating away…’ She looked dreamily down at Harry. ‘And then I came back again. I was determined to haunt Olive Hornby, you see. Oh, she was sorry she’d ever laughed at my glasses.’

‘Where did you see the eyes?’ said Harry.

‘Somewhere there,’ said Myrtle, pointing vaguely towards the sink in front of her toilet.

The three of them hurried over to the sink, leaving Lockhart to stand well back with a look of utter terror on his face.

It looked exactly like an ordinary sink. They examined every inch of it, including the pipes below. Then Harry saw a tiny snake etched on the side of one of the taps.

‘That tap’s never worked,’ said Myrtle, as he frantically tried to turn it.

‘Harry,’ Ron said suddenly, ‘say something in Parseltongue.’

‘You can speak Parseltongue?’ Sherlock said, shocked.

‘Yeah, Sherlock, you’ve seen him do it,’ said Ron.

Sherlock angrily rounded on Lockhart, who held his hands up defensively.

‘How much have you stolen from me?’ he yelled, thrusting his wand back at Lockhart’s face.

Sherlock reluctantly lowered his wand and turned back to the sink.

‘Go on, Harry,’ Ron encouraged.

Harry stared intensely at the tap.

‘Open up,’ he said.

Ron shook his head.

‘English,’ he said.

Harry looked back at the tap, and this time when he spoke, a strange hissing escaped him. The tap glowed a brilliant white and spun around, then the sink began to move It sunk right down and out of sight, leaving a pipe large enough for a man to slide into exposed.

‘I’m going down there,’ Harry said immediately.

‘Me too,’ said Ron.

Sherlock looked down at the deep, dark hole and felt a thrill run through his body. Who knew how far that pipe went down? But if there was any chance that Ginny was still alive, then they had to take it before it was too late.

‘As will I,’ he said, swallowing hard.

‘Well you hardly seem to need me,’ Lockhart said with a shadow of his old smile. ‘I’ll just-‘

He put a hand on the doorknob, but the three boys once again raised their wands.

‘You can go first,’ Sherlock snarled.

White-faced and wandless, Lockhart approached the opening.

‘Boys,’ he said feebly, ‘boys, what good would it do?’

Harry jabbed him in the back with his wand and he slid his legs into the pipe. Lockhart went to protest more, but Ron gave him a shove and he slipped out of sight. Harry quickly followed, as did Ron. Sherlock lowered himself slowly, steadied his breathing, and let go.

It was like rushing down and endless, slimy, dark slide. Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut and held his breath as he twisted and turned with the pipe, sloping steeply downwards, falling deeper and deeper under the school. Eventually, the pipe levelled out and Sherlock shot out of it, knocking over Lockhart as he fell to the damp floor. He stood up unsteadily, looking around the dark stone tunnel around them.

‘We must be miles under the school,’ Harry said, his voice echoing off the tunnel walls.

‘Under the lake, probably,’ Ron said, trying to squint through the darkness.

‘ _Lumos!’_ Sherlock muttered and his wand lit up, as did Harry’s soon after.

‘C’mon,’ said Harry, leading them down the tunnel, their footsteps slapping loudly on the wet floor. ‘Remember, any sign of movement close your eyes straight away...’

The tunnel was silent, however, save for the crunching of small animal bones as they stepped on them. Sherlock held his wand aloft. His senses were on fire, eyes darting back and forth, his ears twitching slightly. His mind was sharper than it had been in months, except for a dull, grey silence in the back of his mind

‘There’s something up there,’ Ron said suddenly.

The four of them froze, watching the outline of something and curved that they could see lying across the tunnel.

‘Maybe it’s asleep,’ Harry said hopefully.

Sherlock’s stomach clenched as he approached it. Harry made to follow, but he thrust an arm out to stop him.

‘You’re the only one of us that can speak Parseltongue,’ he murmured.

Harry nodded and stepped back.

Sherlock walked further until the light from his wand hit the shape, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

‘It’s just skin,’ he said to them.

‘Blimey,’ said Ron. ‘This thing must be massive.’

‘At least twenty feet by the look of it,’ Sherlock nodded.

At that moment, Lockhart’s knees gave way and he collapsed in a heap.

‘Get up,’ Ron said sharply, pointing his wand at Lockhart.

Lockhart got to his feet – then dived at Ron, knocking him to the ground.

Harry and Sherlock jumped forward, but it was too late. Lockhart straightened up, holding Ron’s wand in his hand and his gleaming smile plastered back on his face.

‘The adventure ends here, boys!’ he said, panting. ‘I shall take a bit of this skin back up to the school, tell them I was too late to save the girl, and that you three _tragically_ lost your minds at the sight of her mangled body. Say goodbye to your memories!’

Sherlock remembered just exactly whose wand Lockhart was using as he raised it high above his head.

‘Get down!’ Sherlock yelled.

‘ _Obliviate!’_ Lockhart shouted at the same time.

Sherlock dove to the ground and covered his head with his arms. Ron’s wand exploded with the force of a small bomb, raining chunks of tunnel down on them. The thundering of debris stopped and Sherlock stood, coughing on the dust. He found himself in front of a solid wall of broken rock. Behind him, Ron brushed himself off and Lockhart stood still, looking dazed. Harry was nowhere in sight.

‘Ron! Sherlock!’ Harry’s muffled voice called through the rockfall. ‘Are you okay?’

‘That’s odd,’ Lockhart said cheerily. ‘I didn’t know rocks could talk.’

‘That’s Harry,’ Sherlock said, frowning.

‘Oh, they have names, too? Well, it’s nice to meet you, Harry,’ Lockhart said, politely addressing the rocks.

Ron gave him a bewildered look and bent to pick up the remnants of his wand.

‘The spell must’ve backfired,’ Ron said

‘Ron, Sherlock, are you there?’ Harry called again.

‘We’re here, Harry,’ Ron shouted. ‘We’re okay! This git’s not though, he got blasted by the wand.’

Ron kicked Lockhart hard in the shin, producing a loud, ‘Ouch!’ from him.

‘What now? We can’t get through!’

Sherlock eyed up the rocks and recalled a spell that he’d seen Lucy, Castiel’s sister, use last year. Ron paced back and forth, fuming.

‘I may have something,’ Sherlock said, ‘but I’ve never used it before. It may not work.’

‘Just try it,’ said Harry.

‘All right then, everyone should stand back. You too, Harry.’

Ron backed away, dragging Lockhart with him, and Sherlock pushed up his sleeves. He raised his wand and screwed up all of his concentration. He knew what the spell was supposed to look like and hoped he could create the same effect.

‘ _Bombarda!’_ he cried.

A few of the rocks exploded outwards, but not enough to make a difference, and when he tried again, nothing happened at all. Sherlock groaned and hung his head. Ron kicked Lockhart again.

‘What do we do? We’re wasting time! Ginny’s already been down here for hours!’ Ron said desperately.

‘I’ll- I’ll go and get her,’ Harry said uncertainly.

‘Are- are you sure?’ said Ron.

‘Yeah,’ Harry said, attempting confidence. ‘You wait here with Lockhart and I’ll go on. If I’m not back in an hour…’

He trailed off.

‘We’ll try and shift some of this rock,’ Ron said, trying to keep his voice steady. ‘So you can – can get back through.’

‘See you in a bit,’ he said.

Sherlock looked up and down the rockfall and clenched his jaw, ready to get started.


	14. The Heir of Slytherin

The Heir of Slytherin

Ron rolled up his sleeves and pulled at the rocks until he found one that was loose. He tugged it out and dropped it, almost on his own foot.

‘This is going to take ages,’ Ron said hopelessly, looking up at the solid blockage.

Sherlock bit his lip and aimed his wand again.

‘ _Wingardium Leviosa!’_ he said.

One of the larger rocks detached itself and floated away, gently landing on the ground a few feet away.

‘Don’t suppose you have a spare wand?’ Ron said enviously.

Sherlock shrugged.

‘Wish I hadn’t thrown his out the window now.’

Together they worked and eventually made a small hole. Ron stood back to admire their handiwork, wiping sweat from his forehead.

Lockhart, who had been standing, staring around dreamily, suddenly noticed the hole.

‘Oh, look at that! Let’s see what’s through there.’

He ran over and scrambled up the rocks. Ron and Sherlock tried to grab him, but he was too quick. All they could do was watch as he made it half way up and fell all the way back down.

Sherlock dragged him to his feet.

‘Gosh, that’s a lot of hair. Have we met?’ said Lockhart.

Ron frowned.

‘Do you know who we are?’ Sherlock asked.

‘I don’t believe so.’

‘Do you know who _you_ are?’

Lockhart scrunched up his face, concentrating intensely.

‘Actually, I don’t. Goodness, that’s odd, don’t you think?’ he said.

Sherlock sighed.

‘Ron, why don’t you take him back up to the pipe where he can’t hurt himself?’

‘Fine,’ Ron grumbled. ‘Come with me.’

‘All right,’ Lockhart said happily.

Ron dragged him away and Sherlock levitated some more rocks, widening the hole a little more until Ron came pattering back down the tunnel.

‘I left him sitting by the pipes. He keeps trying to count them but he’s forgotten how to count.’

Ron took in the progress Sherlock had made.

‘I reckon we might be able to-‘

He was cut off by a streak of red and gold blew past them and through the hole.

‘What the hell was that?’ Ron exclaimed.

Sherlock shook his head and they both continued to move the rocks. Finally, they’d made a hole big enough for them to fit through.

‘Ron, you should stay here,’ Sherlock said.

‘But Ginny!’ he protested.

‘You don’t have a wand and you’ll be no good to her Petrified,’ said Sherlock.

Ron struggled to find an argument and gave up.

‘All right, well, you’d better bring them back,’ he said.

‘Of course.’

Sherlock grimaced and climbed through the rocks and down the other side.

‘Why don’t you try and move some more of these rocks. I don’t know what condition Ginny will be in and she might not be able to climb.’

‘That’s true. All right, I’ll do that then.’

Sherlock walked away from the sound of grunting and rocks falling against each other. He began slowly, but the sound of hissing and something very large thrashing around spurred him into a run around all the twists and turns and he found himself at the end of a very long, dimly lit chamber. Serpents were carved twisting up the towering stone pillars, but Sherlock wasn’t looking at that. He was staring up at the giant, poisonous green Basilisk weaving drunkenly between the pillars. The crimson blur that he had seen before, which he now saw was some sort of bird, soared around its head, suddenly diving and sinking its beak into the Basilisk’s bulbous yellow eyes. Sherlock then saw Harry scrambling along the floor, and a figure standing behind the Basilisk was spitting and hissing. Sherlock couldn’t understand what he was doing, but the Basilisk suddenly whipped away from the bird and towards Harry. The figure seemed to be controlling the Basilisk with Parseltongue, so this must be the real heir of Slytherin. Sherlock made a step forwards but had no idea what he could do. The Basilisk was clearly blind now, but that didn’t stop it from being able to sense Harry. Perhaps if he distracted it, Harry might be able to figure something out…

‘Hey, over here!’ Sherlock screamed. ‘I’m over here, come and get me!’

It wasn’t enough. The Basilisk was distracted by him long enough for Harry to get to his feet, but the figure hissed at the Basilisk and redirected its course towards Harry. At that moment, Sherlock saw a small, brown roll of patchy fabric on the ground. He seized it, unrolled it and was taken by surprise.

‘How did you get down here?’ he muttered wondrously. It was the Sorting Hat.

Then a small voice whispered in his head. _Throw it to Harry,_ it said.

He sprinted towards Harry and threw it as hard as he could. Harry caught it and quickly jammed it on his head. After a moment, he ripped it off and Sherlock’s jaw dropped as he drew a ruby encrusted sword from inside the Hat. Before Sherlock could react, the Basilisk lunged at Harry and Harry drove the sword right through the roof of its mouth. It keeled over sideways and Sherlock leapt over it to get to Harry’s side. Harry, on his knees, looked blankly at the huge, venomous fang that was sticking out of his arm, just above the elbow.

‘Harry!’ Sherlock cried.

He slid down onto his knees and the crimson bird landed on his shoulder.

‘Harry, what should I do?’ Sherlock panicked. ‘I don’t know what to do!’

Seemingly deaf to Sherlock’s cries, Harry wrenched the fang from his arm and it clattered to the ground.

‘Thanks for your help, Sherlock,’ he slurred.

‘Harry, no!’

The bird hopped from Sherlock’s shoulder and lay its magnificent head over Harry’s wound. Barely breathing, Sherlock gripped Harry by the shoulders to keep him up. Was he about to watch his friend die?

‘You’re dead, Harry Potter,’ a voice said.

Sherlock looked up and, letting Harry lean against him, he raised his wand at the handsome, sixteen year-old boy before him.

‘Who are you?’ he demanded. ‘Where’s Ginny?’

‘Who I am is none of your concern. As for the girl, it doesn’t matter where she is now.’

‘Tom Riddle,’ Harry said weakly. ‘He’s Voldemort.’

Sherlock paled, and rage flashed across the boy’s sculpted features.

‘No, you can’t be.’

‘Everyone was young once, boy, but yes, I am Lord Voldemort.’

Sherlock gently lay Harry down and stood, keeping his wand trained on Riddle, though his hands were shaking fiercely.

‘You can’t come back,’ Sherlock stuttered. ‘I’ll won’t let you.’

Riddle laughed maliciously.

‘And how exactly do you intend to stop me? I am the greatest sorcerer that ever lived, and you are a schoolboy.’

Riddle took a step towards Harry, but Sherlock blocked his path.

‘Stand aside boy. I want to watch the light leave his eyes.’

He moved, but again, Sherlock stood in his way.

‘It’s funny, I wouldn’t have put you in Ravenclaw,’ Riddle mused, eyes darting down to the Ravenclaw blue tie Sherlock was wearing. ‘I do admire loyalty and valiance, but you cannot save your friend. He’s dead. Even Dumbledore’s bird knows it. Do you see what he’s doing? He’s crying.’

Sherlock glanced behind him and hope flared inside his chest as he realised what kind of bird it was. He turned back to face Riddle.

‘Actually, I think he’ll be just fine,’ he said defiantly.

‘Get away, bird!’ Riddle said loudly. ‘I said, _get away!’_

His wand made a loud bang and the phoenix took off.

‘Phoenix tears…’ Riddle said quietly. ‘Of course… healing powers… I forgot… I prefer it this way anyway. Just you and me, Harry Potter.’

He raised his wand, but he was suddenly tackled to the ground by Sherlock.

‘Harry, do something!’ he yelled as he grappled with Riddle, fighting to keep him pinned to the ground. He didn’t manage it for long. After a moment, Riddle shoved him off, quickly stood up and gave him a savage kick to the stomach. Sherlock, winded, clutched his stomach and tried to recover his breath. Suddenly, there was along, dreadful, piercing scream that rebounded around inside Sherlock’s head. As quickly as it had begun, it was over. A ringing silence was all that remained of Tom Riddle, who had disappeared. Sherlock lifted his head up and saw Harry, covered in black ink, what remained of Riddle’s diary in one of his hands and the Basilisk fang in the other. A sizzling hole had been burned right through the diary. Shaking all over, they both stood unsteadily.

‘Did-did you _tackle_ Lord Voldemort?’ Harry asked incredulously.

Sherlock shrugged.

‘It’s no worse than bouncing snowballs off his face,’ he said.

Harry snorted appreciatively and went to tug the sword out from the Basilisk’s mouth.

A faint moan came from the other end of the Chamber. Ginny, who had been lying motionless, began to stir, and sat up as they hurried over to her. The phoenix landed on Sherlock’s shoulder and Ginny burst into great, shuddering sobs as she took in Harry’s blood-soaked robes.

‘Harry – oh, Harry – I tried to tell you at b-breakfast, but I _c-couldn’t_ say it in front of Percy. It was _me,_ Harry – but I-I s-swear I didn’t mean to – R-Riddle made me, he t-took me over – and – _how_ did you kill that –that thing? W-where’s Riddle? The last thing I remember is him coming out of the diary-‘

Harry comforted Ginny and Sherlock reached a hand up to stroke the phoenix’s warm, silky feathers. He sang softly in Sherlock’s ear and then took off to wait for them by the entrance to the Chamber. Sherlock and Harry helped Ginny up, Sherlock grabbed the Sorting Hat, and the three of them hurried back down the tunnel, where they found Ron pacing and anxiously chewing his fingernails.

‘ _Ginny!’_ he cried as soon as he saw them. ‘You’re alive! I don’t believe it! What happened?’

He tried to hug her, but she held him off, sobbing.

‘You’re okay, Ginny! It’s over now, it’s – where did that bird come from?’

The phoenix swooped down and hovered next to Sherlock.

‘He’s Dumbledore’s,’ said Harry.

‘How come you’ve got a _sword?_ And is that the Sorting Hat?’ Ron said, gaping at them.

‘I’ll explain when we get out of here.’

‘But-‘

‘Later,’ Harry said firmly. ‘Where’s Lockhart?’

Sherlock’s mouth twisted.

‘He’s up here,’ he said, motioning further up the tunnel with his chin.

Led by the phoenix, they walked up to the mouth of the pipe, where Lockhart was sitting, humming placidly.

‘The Memory Charm backfired and hit him instead of us,’ Sherlock said.

‘He hasn’t got a clue who he is, or where he is, or who we are. He tried to climb over the rocks and fell off, so we told him to wait here. He’s a danger to himself,’ Ron explained.

Lockhart peered good-naturedly at them.

‘Hello,’ he said. ‘Odd sort of place, this, isn’t it? Do you live here?’

‘No,’ said Ron, raising his eyebrows at Harry.

Harry bent and squinted up at the long, dark pipe.

‘Have you thought about how we’re going to get back up this?’ Harry asked.

‘The phoenix can take us,’ Sherlock said, stepping towards the pipe.

‘Oh yeah! Fawkes can carry loads of weight,’ said Harry.

Fawkes, as if he had heard them say his name, fluttered down in front of the pipe and waved his golden tail feathers at them. Sherlock tucked the Sorting Hat into his robes and turned to the others.

‘We need to hold on to each other.’

‘Okay, Ginny, grab Ron’s hand,’ Harry said. ‘Professor Lockhart-‘

‘He means you,’ Ron said sharply to Lockhart.

‘You hold Ginny’s other hand…’

Harry secured the sword in his belt, grabbed Ron with one hand and Sherlock with the other.

‘Is everyone ready?’ he asked.

They sounded the affirmative and Harry nodded for Sherlock to grab hold of Fawkes. As soon as he did so, an extraordinary lightness spread through his body. Fawkes took off, taking them with him, and Sherlock closed his eyes, trying to push back the panic that the feeling of rushing air caused.

‘Amazing! Amazing!’ he heard Lockhart yelling below him. ‘This is just like magic!’

Soon enough they were hitting the wet floor of Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom, and the sink that hid the pipe was sliding back into place.

Myrtle goggled at them and Sherlock took a few slow, deep breaths to calm himself.

‘You’re alive,’ Myrtle said blankly to Harry.

‘No need to sound so disappointed,’ he said grimly.

‘Oh, well… I’d just been thinking. If you had died, you’d have been welcome to share my toilet,’ said Myrtle, blushing silver.

‘Urgh!’ said Ron as they left the bathroom for the dark, deserted corridor outside. ‘Harry! I think Myrtle’s got _fond_ of you! You’ve got competition, Ginny!’

But tears were still flooding silently down Ginny’s face.

‘Where now?’ Ron said, with an anxious look at Ginny.

Harry pointed. Fawkes was leading the way again and they strode after him. Moments later, they found themselves outside Professor McGonagall’s office.

Harry knocked and opened the door.


	15. Dobby's Reward

Dobby’s Reward

For a moment they stood in the doorway and there was a shocked silence as four sets of eyes took in the muck, slime and blood that the five of them were covered in. Then there was a scream.

‘ _Ginny!’_

Mrs Weasley, who had been sitting crying in front of the fireplace, leapt to her feet and, along with Mr Weasley, flung themselves on their daughter.

Fawkes flew off to sit on Dumbledore’s shoulder, who was standing by the mantelpiece, smiling. Professor McGonagall next to him, clutching her chest. Harry and Ron were pulled into Mrs Weasley’s embrace, leaving Sherlock to awkwardly fiddle with the Sorting Hat in his hands.

‘You saved her! You saved her! _How_ did you do it?’

‘I think we’d all like to know that,’ Professor McGonagall said weakly.

Mrs Weasley let go of Harry and he and Sherlock approached the desk, laying the sword and the Sorting Hat upon it. Harry then pulled out what was left of Riddle’s diary and placed it down. He took a deep breath and began to tell the room everything that had transpired that year. Sherlock paid close attention, trying to fill in the blanks in his memory.

‘Very well,’ said Professor McGonagall, ‘so you found out where the entrance was – breaking a hundred school rules into pieces along the way, I might add – but how on _earth_ did you all get out of there alive, Potter?’

So Harry, his voice growing hoarse, described Fawkes’s and Sherlock’s timely arrival and the Sorting Hat giving him the sword. He faltered and Sherlock glanced at him. So far he had avoided mentioning Ginny’s role in these events.

‘What interests _me_ most,’ Dumbledore said gently, ‘is how Lord Voldemort managed to enchant Ginny, when my sources tell me he is currently in hiding in the forests of Albania.’

‘W-what’s that?’ said Mr Weasley in a stunned voice. ‘ _You Know Who?_ En-enchant _Ginny?_ But Ginny’s not… Ginny hasn’t been… has she?’

‘It was this diary,’ Harry said quickly, holding it up to show them. ‘Riddle wrote in it when he was sixteen.

‘Brilliant,’ Dumbledore said softly, taking the diary. ‘Of course, he was probably the most brilliant student Hogwarts has ever seen.’

He turned to the Weasleys, who were looking utterly bewildered.

‘Very few people know that Lord Voldemort was once called Tom Riddle. I taught him myself fifty years ago, at Hogwarts. He disappeared after leaving school, travelling far and wide, sank deep into the Dark Arts, and consorted with the very worst of our kind. He underwent many magical transformations, so that when he finally resurfaced as Lord Voldemort, he was barely recognisable. Hardly anyone connected him with the clever, handsome boy who was once Head Boy here.’

‘But Ginny,’ said Mrs Weasley, ‘what’s our Ginny got to do with _him?’_

‘His d-diary!’ Ginny sobbed. ‘I’ve b-been writing in it, and he’s been w-writing back all year- ‘

 _‘Ginny!’_ said Mr Weasley, flabbergasted. ‘Haven’t I taught you _anything?_ What have I always told you? Never trust anything that can think for itself _if you can’t see where it keeps its brain._ Why didn’t you show the diary to me, or your mother? A suspicious object like that, it was _clearly_ full of Dark Magic!’

‘I d-didn’t know,’ sobbed Ginny. ‘I found it inside one of the books Mum got me. I th-thought someone had just left it there and forgotten about it.’

‘Miss Weasley should go up to the hospital wing straight away,’ Dumbledore interrupted in a firm voice. ‘This has been a terrible ordeal for her. There will be no punishment. Older and wiser wizards have been hoodwinked by Lord Voldemort.’

He strode over to the door and opened it.

‘You will find Madam Pomfrey still awake. She’s just getting ready to give out the Mandrake juice – I dare say the Basilisk’s victims will be waking up any moment.’

‘So Hermione’s okay!’ Ron said brightly.

Dumbledore stopped Ginny on her way out.

‘I hear Castiel makes a delicious hot chocolate. No doubt he will make you some if you ask.’

Mr and Mrs Wealey left with Ginny, still looking deeply shaken.

‘You know, Minerva,’ Dumbledore said thoughtfully, ‘I think all of this merits a good _feast._ Might I ask you to go alert the kitchens?’

‘Right,’ Professor McGonagall said crisply. ‘I’ll leave you to deal with these three, shall I?’

‘Certainly,’ said Dumbledore.

Professor McGonagall closed the door behind her.

‘I seem to remember telling you that I would have to expel you if you broke any more school rules,’ said Dumbledore.

Sherlock froze. He couldn’t remember anything of the sort.

‘When did you say that?’ he asked quickly.

‘Apologies, Sherlock, you weren’t there. However, it is of no matter, as these events just go to show that the best of us must sometimes eat our words,’ Dumbledore went on, smiling. ‘All three of you will receive Special Awards for Services to the School and – let me see – yes, I think two hundred points for each of you, for Gryffindor and Ravenclaw.’

Ron flushed bright pink and Fawkes suddenly lifted himself off of Dumbledore’s shoulder to settle back on Sherlock’s.

‘It seems that Fawkes has taken a liking to you,’ Dumbledore said. ‘I would have thought you would have a lot more to say about these goings on, Sherlock.’

Sherlock looked down.

‘My experience of this year is not very reliable,’ he said quietly.

‘How so?’

Sherlock sighed.

‘I discovered Professor Lockhart to be a fraud and he’s been using Memory Charms on me ever since.’

‘I see,’ Dumbledore said seriously. ‘Speaking of which, one of us seems to be keeping mightily quiet about his part in this dangerous adventure. Why so modest, Gilderoy?’

Sherlock twisted around in his seat and saw Lockhart sanding in the corner of the room, wearing a vague smile. Sherlock had totally forgotten he was there. When Dumbledore addressed him, he looked over his shoulder to see who he was talking to.

‘Professor Dumbledore,’ Ron said hastily, ‘there was an accident down in the Chamber of Secrets. Professor Lockhart- ‘

‘Am I a Professor?’ said Lockhart in mild surprise. ‘Goodness, I expect I was hopeless, was I?’

‘He tried to do a Memory Charm and the wand backfired,’ Ron explained quietly to Professor Dumbledore.

‘Dear me,’ said Dumbledore, shaking his head. ‘Impaled upon your own sword, Gilderoy!’

‘Sword?’ said Lockhart dimly. ‘Haven’t got a sword. That boy has, though.’ He pointed at Harry ‘He’ll lend you one.’

‘Would you two mind taking Professor Lockhart and Fawkes up to the hospital wing?’ Dumbledore said to Ron and Sherlock. ‘Madam Pomfrey needs some phoenix tears, and I’d like a few more words with Harry…’

 

Ron and Sherlock didn’t encounter anyone on their way up to the hospital wing, and Madam Pomfrey was very happy to see Fawkes.

‘Bring him over here,’ she said, dragging Sherlock over to the large cauldron at the end of the ward.

Ron left Lockhart standing alone and went over to his parents and they hugged him again.

‘Ron!’ a relieved voice said.

It was Castiel.

‘Your parents told us what happened,’ he said.

He then moved over to Ginny and gave her a steaming mug of hot chocolate. Ginny took a sip and smiled.

‘Dumbledore said you were good at these,’ she said.

Castiel blushed slightly.

‘Well, you can have as many as you like.’

Sherlock was still stood with Madam Pomfrey. Fawkes had refused to move from Sherlock’s shoulder, so she was instead trying to catch his tears in a phial. She soon seemed satisfied and Sherlock looked around at the ward. All of the curtains had been taken down, revealing all of the Petrified people, including Nearly-Headless Nick, floating in the corner. Sherlock went to sit by John and watched the room. Madam Pomfrey called Castiel over and together they filled up some small phials of potion.

‘Remember, in the mouth or ear,’ said Madam Pomfrey.

She moved Lockhart to an empty bed and out of her way. Together she and Castiel took a side of the room each and distributed the potion. Soon, all of the victims had received some potion, save for Nearly-Headless Nick. Castiel eventually came up with the idea of a spray bottle and gave him a good spray with the potion all over. Once she had finished, Sherlock beckoned Madam Pomfrey over.

‘Is- is there anything you can do about reversing Memory Charms?’ he asked hesitantly.

Madam Pomfrey considered it for a moment.

‘I can give you a potion that will encourage memories to return, but it all depends on the strength and frequency of the charms. Whether they will or not is entirely up to chance,’ she told him.

She pulled some soft green potions out of her cupboard and handed them to him.

‘Three drops a day and we’ll see how it goes.

‘Thank you,’ he said.

Soon after, gasps ran through the ward as the victims began to unfreeze. Sherlock watched as John’s limbs loosened and dropped against the mattress. He groaned loudly and pushed himself up.

‘Whoa. Why do you have a bird?’ he said as he caught sight of Fawkes.

‘It’s a long story.’

‘I bet.’

John’s eyes began to water and sting and his eyelids fluttered. Madam Pomfrey went around handing out eye drops to the people that had been frozen with their eyes open and then went to her office to revive Mrs Norris.

‘You look really gross,’ John commented, rubbing his neck.

Sherlock chuckled.

John picked up the mirror that he had been found holding, hopped off his bed and walked over to Ginny.

‘Thank you,’ he said, handing her the mirror.

Tears started running down her face again.

‘Hey, don’t cry, I’m okay! Everything’s okay, Ginny,’ John told her gently.

Ginny nodded, struggling with herself and John looked down into her mug.

‘Hey, Castiel, I think we need a refill over here.’

‘Of course,’ Castiel smiled, taking the mug from her.

Ginny giggled weakly and gave John a weak hug. He, Ron and Sherlock then went to talk to Hermione, who had also woken up, and were joined by Castiel once he had returned Ginny’s mug to her. John shook his head.

‘She told me everything when I caught up with her and gave me the mirror before she was possessed. I couldn’t have escaped and she saved me. She’s not in any trouble, is she?’

‘No, she’s not,’ said Sherlock.

Hermione looked up and down the slime-covered Ron and Sherlock.

‘I think you’d better tell us what happened,’ she said.

So he did, much in the same way Harry had done in Professor McGonagall’s office, with a little help from Ron. Hermione, John and Castiel all paled when Sherlock told them the true identity of Tom Riddle.

‘Are you sure it’s him?’ Hermione said in hushed tones.

‘Dumbledore seemed pretty sure,’ Ron said grimly.

‘Ron, come on, we’re going down to the feast,’ Mrs Weasley called.

‘I’ll see you in a bit,’ he said, hurrying after his parents.

Madam Pomfrey insisted on keeping the previously Petrified in the ward until she had finished checking them all over. They all began to filter out and just as the four of them were getting ready to leave, there was a loud crack and Dobby the house elf appeared in the middle of the room, wearing one black sock along with his old pillowcase. He saw Castiel and squealed, running at him and hugging him tightly.

‘Harry Potter freed Dobby! Dobby is free!’ he said excitedly.

‘That’s amazing, Dobby!’ Castiel said.

He knelt down in front of Dobby.

‘Now that you’re a free elf, I have a gift for you.’

He pulled a plain blue tie out of his pocket and tied it around Dobby neck.

‘There, now don’t you look handsome.’

Dobby’s large eyes filled with tears.

‘Castiel is too kind. Dobby is lucky indeed!’ he wailed. ‘Dobby must go. Dobby must find a new master.’

‘Wait a moment, Dobby. May I ask you who your previous master was?’ Castiel probed.

Dobby trembled and gulped.

‘My masters were the Malfoys, sir.’

Castiel grimaced.

‘I thought so. I wish you luck, Dobby, and I hope to see you soon.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

Dobby bowed deeply and disappeared again with a loud crack.

‘That was weird,’ said John. ‘You just walk around with a tie in your pocket?’

Castiel shrugged.

‘It’s Gabriel’s. I’m sure he won’t mind.’

 

Hermione, Sherlock, John and Castiel made their way down to the Great Hall and saw Hagrid coming in the main entrance.

‘Hagrid!’ Castiel exclaimed delightedly.

They hurried down the steps, Fawkes flying away back to Dumbledore’s office when they hit the bottom, and were all squeezed tightly by Hagrid.

‘It’s good to see you, Hagrid,’ Jon grinned.

‘An’ you. Come on, let’s go in. I got a bone ter pick with Harry.’

Together they entered the Great Hall and were faced with the most unusual feast they had ever been to. Everyone was in their pajamas and the celebrations lasted all night. Justin and the other Hufflepuffs apologised profusely to Harry for suspecting them, Molly giving John a small wink as they did so, and the four hundred points Ron and Harry had received secured Gryffindor the House Cup, as well as Sherlock’s getting second place for Ravenclaw, for the second year running. Professor McGonagall announced that they exams had been cancelled and Dumbledore told them all that Lockhart would be unable to return next year.

 

The rest of the summer term passed in a blaze of sunshine. Hogwarts was back to normal, with a few exceptions. Defense Against the Dark Arts classes had been cancelled, and Draco Malfoy no longer strutted around like he owned the place, due to his father being sacked as governor.

Soon it was time to board the Hogwarts Express. The Weasleys, Harry, Hermione, John, and Sherlock all managed to get a compartment together, while Castiel disappeared off down the train with Gabriel. After spending the journey playing Exploding Snap and practicing disarming each other while they could still use magic, Harry remembered something as they approached King’s Cross.

‘Ginny- what did you see Percy doing, that he didn’t want you to tell anyone?’

‘Oh, that,’ said Ginny, giggling. ‘Well, Percy’s got a _girlfriend.’_

Fred dropped a stack of books on George’s head.

‘ _What?’_

It’s that Ravenclaw Prefect, Penelope Clearwater,’ said Ginny. ‘I caught them kissing in an empty classroom one day. He was so upset when she’d been attacked. You won’t tease him, will you?’

‘Wouldn’t dream of it,’ said Fred, looking as if Christmas had come early.

‘Definitely not,’ said George, sniggering.

The train slowed to a stop and they disembarked at Platform Nine and Three Quarters, barely getting a chance to wave goodbye to Gabriel before he was whisked away. They went through the barrier in pairs and when they were through, John turned to Sherlock.

‘I’m sorry about what Lockhart did to you,’ he said.

Sherlock shook his head.

‘There’s nothing you could have done.’

‘Well, I’m glad you’re yourself again,’ John smile, hugging Sherlock tightly. ‘Okay, I’m off. See you soon.’

John ran off to his family and Sherlock watched him go until he grudgingly went over to Mycroft, who was waiting stiffly.

‘You’ve got some explaining to do, little brother,’ he said disdainfully.

‘Stuff it, Mycroft,’ Sherlock said sharply.

Mycroft tutted and rolled his eyes, and together they got into the Ministry car and drove off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will add a preview of Prisoner of Azkaban to this work so that you all know when I've posted it.


	16. Prisoner of Azkaban Preview

Mr Weasley put down his paper and emblazoned on the front was a picture of a man with wild, matted hair and sunken, sallow skin.

‘Who is that man?’ Castiel asked.

‘Sirius Black,’ Mr Weasley said grimly.

‘ _The_ Sirius Black?’ Castiel said, eyes wide. He leaned closer to the paper. ‘He’s escaped?’

‘Yes,’ said Mr Weasley, looking extremely grave. ‘They’ve pulled us all off our regular jobs at the Ministry to try and find him. No sign of him so far.’

‘Would we get a reward if we caught him?’ asked Ron. ‘It’d be good to get some more money…’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Ron,’ Mr Weasley said, looking very strained. ‘Black’s not going to be caught by a thirteen year-old wizard. It’s the Azkaban guards that’ll get him back, you mark my words.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prisoner of Azkaban is now up and available to read.


	17. Goblet of Fire Preview

Goblet of Fire Preview

John watched as Sherlock moved among the bookshelves, fingers lightly brushing the spines as he went, occasionally taking one and putting it in a pile next to John. At first, John thought he was pulling them out at random, but once he looked at some of them, he realised that they were all either one of a kind, or first editions.

‘Our family are renowned for collecting knowledge,’ Sherlock explained. ‘A pastime I quite enjoy, though rarely get the time for.’

‘And you can tell what kind of book you’re looking for just by touching them?’

‘Usually the texture of the cover, the inlay used for the title and the amount of gathered dust tells me all I need to know.’

‘Really? Wow, that’s amazing.’

Sherlock gave a small smile. ‘You think so?’

‘Definitely. Let’s keep looking.’

They eventually ended up upstairs, where people rarely ventured. John sat at a table while Sherlock continued to search.

He pulled a book out and flipped it open to look at the pages. Just as he did, light shone through one of the windows and illuminated him. Motes of dust drifted around his soft curls. Sunlight bounced off his high cheekbones and his lips pressed together in concentration.

John fidgeted in his seat, his face suddenly hot and itchy.

Sherlock looked up at him. ‘What are you staring at?’ he frowned.

‘Hmm?’

‘I said, what are you staring at?’


End file.
